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f'^HT'&J&ie! 


THE 


CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS; 


OR, 


THE  WHITE  AND  BLACK  RIBAUMONT. 


By  CHARLOTTE  M.  YONGE, 

Author  of    'Heir  of  Redely ffe,"  "The  Dove  in  the  Eagle's 

Nest,"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW    YORK: 

A.  L.  BURT,  PUBLISHER. 


PREFACE 


It  is  the  fashion  to  call  every  story  controversial  that 
deals  with  times  when  controversy  or  a  war  of  religion  was 
raging;  but  it  should  be  remembered  that  there  are  some 
which  only  attempt  to  portray  human  feelings  as  affected 
by  the  events  that  such  warfare  occasioned.  "  Old  Mor- 
tality "  and  "  "Woodstock  "  are  not  controversial  tales,  and 
the  "  Chaplet  of  Pearls  "  is  so  quite  as  little.  It  only 
aims  at  drawing  certain  scenes  and  certain  characters  as 
the  convulsions  of  the  sixteenth  century  may  have  affected 
them,  and  is,  in  fact,  like  all  historical  romance,  the  shap- 
ing of  the  conceptions  that  the  imagination  must  necessarily 
form  when  dwelling  upon  the  records  of  history.  That 
faculty  which  might  be  called  the  passive  fancy,  and  might 
almost  be  described  in  Portia's  song — 

"  It  is  engendered  in  the  eyes, 
By  reading  fed — and  there  it  dies  " — 

that  faculty,  I  say,  has  learned  to  feed  upon  character  and 
incident,  and  to  require  that  the  latter  should  be  effective 
and  exciting.  Is  it  not  reasonable  to  seek  for  this  in  the 
days  when  such  things  were  not  infrequent,  and  did  not 
imply  exceptional  wickedness  or  misfortune  in  those  engaged 
in  them?  This  seems  to  me  one  plea  for  historical  novel, 
to  which  I  would  add  the  opportunity  that  it  gives  for  study 
of  the  times  and  delineation  of  characters.  Shakespeare's 
Henry  IV.  and  Henry  V.,  Scott's  Louis  XL,  Manzoni^s 
Federigo  Borromeo,  Bulwer's  Harold,  James's  Philip 
Augustus,  are  all  real  contributions  to  our  comprehension  of 
the  men  themselves,  by  calling  the  chronicles  and  memoirs 
into  action.  True,  the  picture  can  not  be  exact,  and  is 
sometimes  distorted — nay,  sometimes  praiseworthy  efforts 
at  correctness  in  the  detail  take  away  whatever  might  have 
been  life-like  in  the  outline.     Yet,  acknowledging  all  this. 


Yl  PREFACE. 

I  must  still  plead  for  tlie  tales  that  presumptuously  deal 
with  days  gone  by,  as  enabling  the  young  to  realize  hiptory 
vividly — and,  what  is  still  more  desirable,  requiring  an 
effort  of  the  mind  which  to  read  of  modern  days  does  not. 
The  details  of  Millais's  Inquisition  or  of  his  Huguenot  may 
be  in  error  in  spite  of  all  his  study  and  diligence,  but  they 
have  brought  before  us  forever  the  horrors  of  the  auto-da- 
fe,  and  the  patient,  steadfast  heroism  of  the  man  who  can 
smile  aside  liis  wife's  endeavor  to  make  him  tacitly  betray 
his  faith  to  save  his  life.  Surely  it  is  well,  by  pen  as  by 
picture,  to  go  back  to  the  past  for  figures  that  will  stir  the 
heart  like  these,  even  though  the  details  be  as  incorrect  as 
those  of  the  revolt  of  Liege  or  of  La  Ferrette,  in  "  Quentin 
Diirward  "  and  "  Anne  of  Geierstein.'' 

Scott,  however,  willfully  carved  history  to  suit  the  pur- 
poses of  his  story;  and  in  these  days  we  have  come  to  feel 
that  a  story  must  earn  a  certain  amount  of  credibility  by 
being  in  keeping  with  established  facts,  even  if  striking 
events  have  to  be  sacrificed,  and  that  the  order  of  time  must 
be  preserved.  In  Shakespeare's  days,  or  even  in  Scott's, 
it  might  have  been  possible  to  bring  Henry  III.  and  his 
mignions  to  due  punishment  within  the  limits  of  a  tale  be- 
ginning with  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew;  but  in  1868 
the  broad  outlines  of  tragedy  must  be  given  up  to  keep 
within  the  bounds  of  historical  verity. 

How  far  tliis  has  been  done,  critics  better  read  than  my- 
self must  decide.  I  have  endeavored  to  speak  fairly,  to  the 
best  of  my  ability,  of  such  classes  of  persons  as  fell  in  with 
the  course  of  the  narrative,  according  to  such  lights  as  the 
memoirs  of  the  time  afford.  The  convent  is  scarcely  a  class 
portrait,  but  the  condition  of  it  seems  to  be  justified  by 
hints  in  the  Port  Royal  memoirs,  respecting  Maubuissou 
and  otbfers  which  Mere  Angelique  reformed.  The  intoler- 
ance of  the  ladies  at  Montauban  is  described  in  Mme. 
Duplessis-Mornay's  life;  and  if  Bereuger's  education  and 
opinions  are  looked  on  as  not  sufficiently  alien  from  Eoman 
C-atholicism,  a  reference  to  Fronde's  "  History  of  Queen 
Elizabeth  "  will  show  both  that  the  customs  of  the  elder 
English  Church  were  still  kept  up  by  many  of  the  country 
clergy,  and  likewise  that  a  broad  distinction  was  made  by 
the  better-informed  among  the  French  between  Calvinism 
and  Protestantism  or  Lutheranism,  in  which  they  included 
Anglicanism.     The  minister  Gardon  I  do  not  consider  as 


PREFACE.  Vli 

representing  his  class.    He  is  a  possibility  modified  to  serve 
the  purposes  of  the  story. 

Into  historical  matters,  however,  I  have  only  entered  so 
far  as  my  story  became  involved  with  them.  And  here  I 
have  to  apologize  for  a  few  blunders,  detected  too  late  for 
alteration  even  in  the  volumes.  Sir  Francis  Walsingham 
was  a  young  rising  statesman  in  1573,  instead  of  the  elderly 
sage  he  is  represented ;  his  daughter  Frances  was  a  mere 
infant,  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  not  knighted  till  much 
later.  For  the  rest,  I  have  tried  to  show  the  scenes  that 
shajDcd  themselves  before  me  as  carefully  as  I  could;  though 
of  course  they  must  not  be  a  presentiment  of  the  times 
themselves,  but  of  my  notion  of  them. 

C.  M.  YONGE. 

November  Uth,  18€8. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  THE   WHITE  AND  BLAOK. 

Small  was  the  ring,  and  small  in  truth  the  finger; 
What  then?  the  faith  was  large  that  dropped  it  down. 

Aubrey  de  Vere  :  Infant  Bridal. 

Setting  aside  the  consideration  of  the  risk,  the  baby- 
weddings  of  the  Middle  Ages  must  have  been  very  pretty 
sights. 

So  the  Court  of  France  thought  the  bridal  of  Henri  Be- 
renger  Eustache  de  Eibaumont  and  of  Marie  Eustacie 
Eosalie  de  Ribaumoufc  du  Nid-de-Merle,  when,  amid  the 
festivals  that  accompanied  the  signature  of  the  treaty  of 
Cateau-Cambresis,  good-natured  King  Henri  II.  presided 
merrily  at  the  union  of  the  little  jjair,  whose  united  ages 
did  not  reach  ten  years. 

There  they  stood  under  the  portal  of  Notre  Dame,  the 
little  bridegroom  in  a  white  velvet  coat,  with  puffed  sleeves, 
slashed  with  scarlet  satin,  as  were  the  short,  also  puffed, 
breeches  meeting  his  long  white  knitted  silk  stockings  some 
way  above  the  knee;  large  scarlet  rosettes  were  in  his  white 
shoes,  a  scarlet  knot  adorned  his  little  sword,  and  his  velve*; 
cap  of  the  same  color  bore  a  long  white  plume,  and  was  en- 
circled by  a  row  of  pearls  of  priceless  value.  They  are  no 
other  than  that  garland  of  pearls  which,  after  a  night  of 
personal  combat  before  the  walls  of  Calais,  Edward  III.  of 
England  took  from  his  helmet  and  presented  to  Sir  Eus- 
tache de  Ribaumont,  a  knight  of  Picardy,  bidding  him  say 
everywhere  that  it  was  a  gift  from  the  King  of  England  to 
the  bravest  of  knigiits. 

The  precious  heir-looms  were  scarcely  held  with  the  re- 
spect due  to  an  ornament  so  acquired.     The  manly  garb 


10  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

for  the  first  time  assumed  by  his  sturdy  legS;,  and  the  pos- 
session of  che  little  sword,  were  evidently  the  most  interest- 
ing parts  of  the  affair  to  the  youthful  husband,  who  seemed 
to  find  in  them  his  only  solace  for  the  weary  length  of  tb^ 
ceremony.  He  was  a  fine,  handsome  little  fellow,  fair  and 
rosy,  with  bright  blue  eyes,  and  hair  like  shining  flax,  un- 
usually tall  and  strong-limbed  for  his  age;  and  as  he  gave 
his  hand  to  his  little  bride,  and  walked  with  her  imder  a 
canopy  uji  to  kneel  at  the  High  Altar,  for  the  marriage 
blessing  and  the  mass,  they  looked  like  a  full-grown  couple 
seen  through  a  diminishing  glass. 

The  little  bride  was  perhaps  a  less  beautiful  child,  but 
she  had  a  splendid  pair  of  black  eyes,  and  a  sweet  little^ 
month,  both  set  into  the  uncom2:)rehendi]ig  solemnity  of 
baby  gravity  and  contentment  in  fine  clothes.  In  accord- 
ance with  the  vow  indicated  by  her  name  of  Marie,  her 
dress  was  white  and  blue,  turquois  forget-me-nots  bound 
the  little  lace  veil  on  her  dark  chestnut  hair,  the  bosom  of 
her  white  satin  dress  was  sj^rinkled  with  the  same  azure 
jetvel,  and  turquoises  bordered  every  seam  of  the  sweeping 
skirt  with  a  train  befitting  a  count's  daughter,  and  mean- 
dered in  gorgeous  constellations  round  the  hem.  The  little 
thing  lisjjed  her  own  vows  forth  without  much  notion  of 
their  sense,  and  indeed  was  sometimes  jirompted  by  her 
bride-maid  cousin,  a  pretty  little  girl  a  year  older,  who 
thrust  in  her  assistance  so  glibly  that  the  king,  as  well  as 
others  of  the  spectators,  laughed,  and  observed  that  she 
would  get  herself  married  to  the  boy  instead  of  her  cousin. 
There  was,  however,  to  be  no  doubt  nor  mistake  about 
Berenger  and  Eustacie  de  Eibaumont  being  man  and  wife. 
Every  ceremony,  religious  or  domestic,  that  could  render  a 
marriage  valid,  was  gone  through  with  real  earnestness, 
although  with  infinite  gayety,  on  the  part  of  the  court. 
Much  depended  on  their  union,  and  the  reconcilement  of 
the  two  branches  of  the  family  had  long  been  a  favorite 
scheme  of  King  Henri  II. 

Both  alike  were  descended  from  Anselme  de  Eibaumont, 
renowned  in  the  first  Crusade,  and  from  the  brave  Picard 
who  had  received  the  pearls;  but,  in  the  miserable  anarchy 
of  Charles  VI. 's  reign,  the  elder  brother  had  been  on  the 
Burgundian  side — like  most  of  the  other, nobles  of  Picardy 
— and  had  thus  been  brought  into  the  English  camp, 
where,  regarding  Henry  V.  as  lawfully  appointed  to  the 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS.  11 

succession,  and  much  admiring  liim  and  his  brother  Bed- 
ford, he  had  become  an  ardent  supporter  of  the  Enghsh 
claim.  He  had  married  an  English  lady,  and  had  received 
the  grant  of  the  castle  of  Leurre  in  Normandy  by  way  of 
compensation  for  his  ancestral  one  of  Ribaumont  in 
Picardy,  which  had  been  declared  to  be  forfeited  by  his 
treason,  and  seized  by  his  brother. 

This  brother  had  always  been  an  Armagnac,  and  had 
risen  and  thriven  with  his  party — before  the  final  peace  be- 
tween France  and  England  obliged  the  elder  line  to  submit 
to  Charles  VII.  Since  that  time  there  had  been  a  perpetual 
contention  as  to  the  restitution  of  Chateau  Ribaumont,  a 
strife  which  under  Louis  XL  had  become  an  endless  law- 
suit; and  in  the  days  of  dueling  had  occasioned  a  good 
many  insults  and  private  encounturs.  The  younger  branch, 
or  Black  Ribaumonts,  had  received  a  grant  from  Louis  XL 
of  the  lands  of  Nid-de-Merle,  belonging  to  an  unfortunate 
Angevin  noble,  who  had  fallen  under  the  royal  displeasure, 
and  they  had  enjoyed  court  favor  up  to  the  jDresent  genera- 
tion, when  Henri  II.,  either  from  opposition  to  his  father, 
instinct  for  honesty,  or  both,  had  become  a  warm  friend  to 
the  gay  and  brilliant  young  Baron  de  Ribaumont,  head  of 
the  whi  te  or  elder  branch  of  the  family. 

The  family  contention  seemed  liively  to  wear  out  of  its 
own  accord,  for  the  Count  de  Ribaumont  was  an  elderly 
and  childless  man,  and  his  brother,  the  Chevalier  de  Ribau- 
mont, was,  according  to  the  usual  lot  of  French  Juniors,  a 
bachelor,  so  that  it  Avas  exi^ected  that  the  whole  inheritance 
would  center  upon  the  elder  family.  However,  to  the 
general  surprise,  the  chevalier  late  in  life  married,  and  be- 
came the  father  of  a  son  and  daughter;  but  soon  after  cal- 
culations were  still  more  thrown  out  by  the  birth  of  a  little 
daughter  in  the  old  age  of  the  count. 

Almost  from  the  hour  in  which  her  sex  was  announced, 
the  king  had  jDromised  the  Baron  de  Ribaumont  that  she 
should  be  the  wife  of  his  young  son,  and  that  all  the  pos- 
sessions of  the  house  should  be  settled  upon  the  little  couple, 
engaging  to  provide  for  the  chevalier's  disappointed  heir  in 
some  commandery  of  a  religious  order  of  knighthood. 

The  baron's  wife  was  English.  He  had,  when  on  a  visit 
to  his  English  kindred,  entirely  turned  the  head  of  the 
lovely  Annora  Walwyn,  and  finding  that  her  father,  one  of 


12  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

the  gravest  of  Tudor  statesmen,  would  not  hear  of  her 
breaking  her  engagement  to  the  honest  Dorset  squire  Mar- 
maduke  Tliistlewood,  he  had  carried  her  off  by  a  stolen 
marriage  and  cowp  dc  main,  which,  as  her  beauty,  rank, 
and  inheritance  were  all  considerable,  had  won  him  great 
rejiutation  at  the  gay  court  of  Henri  11. 

Infants  as  the  boy  and  girl  were,  the  king  had  hurried 
on  their  marriage  to  secure  its  taking  place  in  the  life- time 
of  the  count.  The  countess  had  died  soon  after  the  birth 
of  the  little  girl,  and  if  the  arrangement  were  to  take  effect 
at  all,  it  must  be  before  she  should  fall  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  her  uncle,  the  chevalier.  Therefore  the  king  had 
caused  her  to  be  brought  up  from  the  cottage  in  Anjou, 
where  she  had  been  nursed,  and  in  person  superintended 
the  brilliant  wedding.  He  himself  led  off  the  dance  with 
the  tiny  bride,  conducting  her  through  its  mazes  with 
fatherly  kindliness  and  condescension;  but  Queen  Cath- 
erine, who  was  strongly  in  the  interests  of  the  Angevin 
branch,  and  had  always  detested  the  baron  as  her  husband's 
intimate,  excused  herself  from  dancing  with  the  bride- 
groom. He  therefore  fell  to  the  share  of  the  Dauphiness 
Queen  of  Scots,  a  lovely,  bright-eyed,  laughing  girl,  who 
so  completely  fascinated  the  little  fellow,  that  he  convulsed 
the  court  by  observing  that  he  should  not  have  objected  to 
be  married  to  some  one  like  her,  instead  of  a  little  baby  like 
Eustacie. 

Amid  all  the  mirth,  it  was  not  only  the  chevalier  and 
the  queen  who  bore  disjileased  looks.  In  truth,  both  were 
too  great  adejjts  in  court  life  to  let  their  dissatisfaction  ap- 
j^ear.  The  gloomiest  face  was  that  of  him  whose  triumph 
it  was — the  bride-groom's  father,  the  Baron  de  Ribaumont. 
He  had  suffered  severely  from  the  sickness  that  prevailed 
in  St.  Qiientin,  when  in  the  last  August  the  Admiral  de 
Coligny  had  been  besieged  there  by  the  Spaniards,  and  all 
agreed  that  he  had  never  been  the  same  man  since,  either 
in  health  or  in  demeanor.  When  he  came  back  from  his 
cajjtivity  and  found  the  king  bent  on  crowning  his  return 
by  the  marriage  of  the  children,  he  had  hang  back,  spoken 
of  scruples  about  such  unconscious  vows,  and  had  finally 
only  consented  under  stress  of  the  personal  friendship  of 
the  king.,  and  on  condition  that  he  and  his  wife  should  at 
once  have  the  sole  custody  of  the  little  bride.  Even  then 
he  moved  about  tiie  gay  scene  with  so  distressed  and  morose 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  13 

an  air  that  he  was  evidently  either  under  the  influence  of  a 
scruple  of  conscience  or  of  a  foreboding  of  evil. 

No  one  doubted  that  it  had  been  the  latter,  Avhen  three 
days  later,  Henri  II.,  in  the  prime  of  his  strength  and 
height  of  his  spirits,  encountered  young  Des  Jjorges  in  the 
lists,  received  the  splinter  of  a  lance  in  his  eye,  and  died 
two  days  afterward. 

No  sooner  were  his  obsequies  over  than  the  Baron  de 
Ribaumont  set  off  with  his  wife  and  the  little  bridal  pair  for 
his  castle  of  Leurre,  in  Normandy,  nor  was  he  ever  seen  at 
court  again. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE     SEP  AR  ATION". 

■   Parted  without  the  least  regret, 
Except  that  they  had  ever  met, 
*  *  *  * 

Misses,  the  tale  that  I  relate. 

This  lesson  seems  to  carry: 
Choose  not  alone  a  proper  mate. 

But  a  proper  time  to  marry ! 

CowPER,  Pairing  Time  anticipated. 

"I  WILL  have  it!" 

"  Thou  shalt  not  have  it!'' 

"  Diane  says  it  is  mine.'' 

"  Diane  knows  nothing  about  it." 

"  Gentlemen  always  yield  to  ladies." 

"  Wives  ought  to  mind  their  husbands." 

"  Then  I  will  not  be  thy  wife." 

"  Thou  canst  not  help  it." 

"  I  will.  I  will  tell  my  father  what  Monsieur  le  Baron 
reads  and  sings,  and  then  I  know  he  M'ill." 

"And  welcome." 

Eustacie  put  out  her  lip,  and  began  to  cry. 

The  ''  husband  and  wife,"  now  eight  and  seven  years  old, 
were  in  a  large  room  hung  with  tapestry,  representing  the 
history  of  Tobit.  A  great  state  bed,  curtained  with  piled 
velvet,  stood  on  a  sort  of  dais  at  the  further  end;  there 
was  a  toilet-table  adorned  with  curiously  shaped  boxes, 
and  colored  Venetian  glasses,  and  filagree  pounce t-boxes, 
and  with  a  small  mirror  whose  frame  was  inlaid  with  gold 
and  ivory.  A  large  coffer,  likewise  inlaid,  stood  against  the 


14  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

wall,  and  near  it  a  cabinet,  of  Dutch  worlimauship,  a  com- 
bination of  ebony,  ivory, wood,  and  looking-glass,  the  center 
retreating,  and  so  arranged  that  by  the  help  of  most  ingen- 
ious attention  to  perspective  and  reflection,  it  appeared  like 
the  entrance  to  a  magnificent  miniature  cinque-cento  palace, 
with  steps  uj)  to  a  vestibule  paved  in  black  and  white  loz- 
enges, and  with  three  endless  corridors  diverging  from  it. 
So  much  for  show;  for  use,  this  jjalace  was  a  bewildering 
complication  of  secret  drawers  and  pigeon-holes,  all  de- 
pending indeed  upon  one  tiny  gold  key;  but  unless  the  use 
of  that  key  were  well  understood,  all  it  led  to  was  certain 
outer  receptacles  of  fragrant  Spanish  gloves,  knots  of  rib- 
bon, and  kerchiefs  strewn  over  with  rose  leaves  and  laven- 
der. However,  Eustacie  had  secured  the  key,  and  was  now 
far  beyond  these  mere  superficial  matters.  Her  youthful 
lord  had  just  discovered  her  mounted  on  a  chair,  her  small 
person  decked  out  with  a  profusion  of  necklaces,  jewels, 
bracelets,  chains,  and  rings;  and  her  fingers  as  well  as  they 
could  under  their  stifl'ening  load,  were  opening  the  very 
penetralia  of  the  cabinet,  the  inner  chamber  of  the  hall, 
where  lay  a  case  adorned  with  the  Eibaumont  arms  and 
containing  the  far-famed  chaplet  of  pearls.  It  was  almost 
beyond  her  reach,  but  she  had  risen  on  tip-toe,  and  was 
stretching  out  her  hand  for  it,  when  he,  sj^ringing  behind 
her  on  the  chair,  availed  himself  of  his  superior  height  and 
strength  to  shut  the  door  of  this  arcanum  and  turn  the  key. 
His  mortifying  permission  to  his  wife  to  absent  herself 
arose  from  pure  love  of  teasing,  but  the  next  moment  he 
added,  still  holding  his  hand  on  the  key — "  As  to  telling 
what  my  father  reads,  that  would  be  treason.  How  shouldst 
thou  know  what  it  is?" 

"  Dost  thou  think  every  one  is  an  infant  but  thyself?" 
"  But  who  told  thee  that  to  talk  of  my  father's  books 
would  get  him  into  trouble ?''   continued  the  boy,  as  they 
still  stood  together  on  the  high  heavy  wooden  chair. 
She  tossed  her  pretty  head,  and  i^retended  to  pout. 
"  Was  it  Diane?    I  will  know.     Didst  thou  tell  Diane?" 
Isistead  of  answering,  now  that  his  attention  to  the  key 
was  relaxed,  Eustacie  made  a  sudden  dart,  like  a  liitle  wild 
cat,  at  the  back  of  the  chair  and  at  the  key.     The  chair 
overbalanced;  Berenger  caught  at  the  front  drawer  of  the 
cabinet,   which,   unlocked  by  Eustacie,   came  out  in   his 
hand,  and  chair,  children,  drawer,  and  curiosities  all  went 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  15 

rolling  over  together  on  the  floor  with  a  hnhbub  that 
brought  all  the  household  together,  exclaiming  and  scolding. 
Mme.  de  Kibaumont's  displeasure  at  the  rifling  of  her 
hoards  knew  no  bounds;  Eustacie,  by  way  of  defense, 
shrieked  "  like  twenty  demons;"  Berenger,  too  honorable 
to  accuse  her,  underwent  the  same  tempest;  and  at  last 
both  were  soundly  rapped  over  the  knuckles  with  the  long 
handle  of  madame's  fan,  and  consigned  to  two  seijarate 
closets,  to  be  dealt  with  on  the  return  of  M.  le  Baron,  while 
madame  returned  to  her  embroidery,  lamenting  the  absence 
of  that  dear  little  Diane,  whose  late  visit  at  the  chateau 
had  been  marked  by  such  unusual  tranquillity  between  the 
children. 

Berenger  in  his  dark  closet,  comforted  himself  with  the 
shrewd  suspicion  that  his  father  was  so  employed  as  not  to 
be  expected  at  home  till  supper-time,  and  that  his  mother's 
wrath  was  by  no  means  likely  to  be  so  enduring  as  to  lead 
her  to  make  complaints  of  the  ^jrisoners;  and  when  he  heard 
a  tramj)ling  of  horses  in  the  court,  he  anticipated  a  speedy 
release  and  summons  to  show  himself  to  the  visitors.  He 
waited  long,  however,  before  he  heard  the  pattering  of  little 
feet;  then  a  stool  scraped  along  the  floor,  the  button  of 
his  door  was  undone,  the  stool  pushed  back,  and  as  he 
emerged,  Eustacie  stood  before  him  with  her  finger  to  her 
lip.  "  Chut,  Berenger!  It  is  my  father  and  uncle,  and 
Narcisse,  and,  oh!  so  many  gendarmes.  They  are  come 
to  summon  Monsieur  le  Baron  to  go  with  them  to  disperse 
the  prcche  by  the  Bac  de  FOie.  And  oh,  Berenger,  is  he 
not  there?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  He  went  out  with  his  hawk,  and  I  do 
not  think  he  could  have  gone  anywhere  else.  Did  they 
say  so  to  my  mother?" 

"  Yes;  but  she  never  knows.  And  oh,  Berenger,  ISTar- 
cisse  told  me — ah,  was  it  to  tease  me? — that  Diane  has  told 
them  all  they  wanted  to  know,  for  that  they  sent  her  here 
on  purpose  to  see  if  we  were  not  all  Huguenots.'^ 

"  Very  likely,  the  little  viper!  Let  me  pass,  Eustacie. 
I  must  go  and  tell  my  father." 

"  Thou  canst  not  get  out  that  way;  the  court  is  full  of 
men-at-arms.  Hark,  there's  Narcisse  calling  me.  He  will 
come  after  me. ' ' 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Berenger  flew  along  a 
corridor,  and  down  a  narrow  winding  stair,  and  across  the 


IQ  THE    CHAPLJ]T    OF    PEARLS. 

kifcclieu;  then  snatching  at  the  arm  of  a  boy  of  his  own  age 
whom  he  met  at  the  door,  he  gasped  ont,  "  Oome  and  help 
me  catch  Follet,  Landry!"  and  still  running  across  an 
orchard,  he  pulled  down  a  couple  of  apples  from  the  trees, 
and  bounded  into  a  paddock  where  a  small  rough  Breton 
pony  was  feeding  among  the  little  tawny  Norman  cows. 
The  animal  knew  his  little  master,  and  trotted  toward  him 
at  his  call  of  "  Follet,  Follet.  Now  .be  a  wise  Follet,  and 
play  me  no  tricks.  Thou  and  I,  Follet,  shall  do  good  serA^- 
.'ce,  if  thou  wilt  be  steady.''^ 

Follet  made  his  advances,  but  with  a  coquettish  eye  and 
look,  as  if  ready  to  start  away  at  any  moment. 

"  Soil,  Follet.  I  have  no  bread  for  thee,  only  two  apples; 
but,  Follet,  listen.  There's  my  beau  pere  the  count,  and 
the  chevalier,  all  spite,  and  their  whole  troop  of  savage  gen- 
darmes, come  out  to  fall  upon  the  jjoor  Huguenots,  who  are 
doing  no  harm  at  all,  only  listening  to  a  long  dull  sermon. 
And  I  am  much  afraid  my  father  is  there,  for  he  went  out 
with  his  hawk  on  his  wrist,  and  he  never  does  take  Ysonde 
for  any  real  sport,  as  thou  and  I  would  do,  Follet.  He  says 
it  is  all  vanity  of  vanities.  But  thouknow'st,  if  they  caught 
him  at  the  precJie  they  would  call  it  heresy  and  treason,  and 
all  sorts  of  horrors,  and  any  way  they  would  fall  like  de- 
mons on  the  poor  Huguenots,  Jacques  and  all — thine  own 
Jacques,  Follet.  Come,  be  a  loyal  pony,  Follet.  Be  at 
least  as  good  as  Eustacie. " 

Follet  was  evidently  attentive  to  tliis  joeroration,  turning 
round  his  ear  in  a  sensible  attitude,  and  advancing  his  nose 
to  the  apples.  As  Berenger  held  them  out  to  him,  the  boy 
clutched  his  shaggy  forelock  so  effectually  that  the  start 
back  did  not  shake  him  off,  and  the  next  moment  Berenger 
'j/as  on  his  back. 

"  And  I,  monsieur,  what  shall  I  do?'' 
"  Thou,  Landry?    I  know.     Speed  like  a  hare,  lock  the 
avenue  gate,  and  hide  the  key.  That  will  delay  them  a  long 
time.     Off  now,  Follet. " 

Berenger  and  Follet  understood  one  another  far  too  well 
to  care  about  such  trifles  as  saddle  and  bridle,  and  off  they 
went  through  green  grassy  balks  dividing  the  fields,  or 
across  the  stubble  till,  about  three  miles  from  the  castle, 
they  came  to  a  narrow  valley,  dipping  so  suddenly  between 
the  hills  that  it  could  hardly  have  been  suspected  by  one 
unaware  of  its  locality,  and  the  sides  were  dotted  wit? 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  TEARLS.  17 

copse-wood,  which  entirely  hid  the  bottom.  Berenger 
guided  his  pony  to  a  winding  path  that  led  down  the  steep 
side  of  the  valley,  already  hearing  the  cadence  of  a  loud, 
chanting  voice,  throwing  out  its  sounds  over  the  assembly, 
whence  arose  assenting  hums  over  an  undercurrent  of  sobs, 
as  though  the  excitable  French  assembly  were  strongly 
affected. 

The  thicket  was  so  close  that  Berenger  was  almost  among 
the  congre2|ation  before  he  could  see  more  than  a  passing 
glimpse  of  a  sea  of  heads.  Stout,  ruddy,  Norman  peas- 
ants, and  high  white-capped  women,  mingled  with  a  few 
soberly  clad  townsfolk,  almost  all  with  the  grave,  steadfast 
cast  of  countenance  imparted  by  unresisted  persecution, 
stood  gathered  round  the  green  mound  that  served  as  a  natu- 
ral pulpit  for  a  Calvinist  minister,  who  wore  the  dress  of 
a  burgher,  but  entirely  black.  To  Berenger ^s  despair,  he 
was  in  the  act  of  inviting  his  hearers  to  join  with  him  in 
singing  one  of  Marot's  psalms;  and  the  boy,  eager  to  lose 
not  a  moment,  grasped  the  skirt  of  the  outermost  of  the 
crowd.  The  man,  an  absorbed- looking  stranger,  merely 
said,  "  Importune  me  not,  child." 

"  Listen,"  said  Berenger;  "  it  imports — " 

"  Peace,"  was  the  stern  answer;  but  a  Norman  farmer 
looked  round  at  that  moment,  and  Berenger  exclaimed, 
*' Stop  the  singing!  The  gendarmes."  The  psalm  broke 
off;  the  whisper  circulated;  the  words  "  from  Leurre  "  were 
next  conveyed  from  lip  to  lip,  and,  as  it  were  in  a  moment, 
the  dense  human  mass  had  broken  up  and  vanished,  steal- 
ing through  the  numerous  paths  in  the  brushwood,  or  along 
the  brook,  as  it  descended  through  tall  sedges  and  bulrushes. 
The  valley  was  soon  as  lonely  as  it  had  been  populous:  the 
pulpit  remamed  a  mere  mossy  bank,  more  suggestive  of 
fairy  dances  than  of  Calvinist  sermons,  and  no  one  re- 
mained on  the  scene  save  Berenger  with  liis  pony,  Jacques 
the  groom,  a  stout  farmer,  the  preacher,  and  a  tall  tliiu 
figure  in  the  plainest  dark  cloth  dress  that  could  be  worn 
by  a  gentleman,  a  hawk  on  his  wrist. 

"  Thou  here,  my  boy!"  he  exclaimed,  as  Berenger  came 
to  his  side;  and  as  the  little  fellow  replied  in  a  few  brief 
words,  he  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  said  to  the  minister, 
"  Good  Master  Isaac,  let  me  present  my  young  sou  to  you, 
who  under  Heaven  hath  been  the  means  of  saving  many 
lives  this  day. " 


18  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

Maitre  Isaac  Gardon,  a  noted  jDreacher,  looked  kindly  at 
the  boy's  fair  face,  and  said,  "  Bless  thee,  young  sir.  As 
thou  hast  been  already  a  chosen  instrument  to  save  life,  so 
mayest  thou  be  ever  after  a  champion  of  the  truth.'" 

''  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  interposed  Jacques,  "  it  were  best 
to  look  to  yourself.  I  already  hear  sounds  upon  the 
wind. ' ' 

''  And  you,  good  sir?"  said  the  baron. 

"  I  will  see  to  him,"  said  the  farmer,  grasjmig  him  as  a 
sort  of  property.  "  Monsieur  le  Baron  had  befet  keep  up 
the  beck.  Out  on  the  moor  there  he  may  fly  the  hawk, 
and  that  will  best  divert  suspicion. " 

"  Farewell,  then,"  said  the  baron,  wringing  the  minis- 
ter's hand,  and  adding,  almost  to  him.self,  "Alas!  I  am 
weary  of  these  shifts!"  and  weary  indeed  he  seemed,  for  as 
the  ground  became  so  steej)  that  the  beck  danced  noisily 
down  its  channel,  he  could  not  keep  up  the  needful  S2:)eed, 
but  paused,  gasping  for  breath,  with  his  hand  on  his  side. 
Berenger  was  off  his  i^ony  in  an  instant,  assuring  Follet 
that  it  ought  to  be  proud  to  be  ridden  by  his  father,  and 
exhaling  his  own  exultant  feelings  in  caresses  to  the  animal 
as  it  gallantly  breasted  the  hill.  The  little  boy  had  never 
been  so  commended  before!  He  loved  his  father  exceeding- 
ly; but  the  baron,  while  ever  just  toward  him,  was  grave 
and  strict  to  a  degree  that  the  ideas  even  of  the  sixteenth 
century  regarded  as  severe.  Little  Eustacie  with  her  love- 
ly face,  her  irrepressible  saucy  grace  and  audacious  coaxing, 
was  the  only  creature  to  whom  he  ever  showed  much  in- 
dulgence and  tenderness,  and  even  that  seemed  almost 
against  his  will  and  conscience.  His  son  was  always  under 
rule,  often  blamed,  and  scarcely  ever  praised;  but  it  was  a 
hardy  vigorous  nature,  and  respectful  love  thrived  under 
the  system  that  would  have  crushed  or  alienated  a  different 
disposition.  It  was  not  till  the  party  had  emerged  from  the 
wood  upon  a  stubble  field,  where  a  covey  of  partridges  flew 
up,  and  to  Berenger's  rapturous  delight  furnished  a  victim 
for  Ysonde,  that  M.  de  Ribaumont  dismounted  from  the 
pony  and,  walking  toward  home,  called  liis  son  to  his  side, 
and  asked  him  how  he  had  learned  the  intentions  of  the 
count  and  the  chevalier.  Berenger  explained  how  Eustacie 
had  come  to  warn  him,  and  also  told  what  she  had  said  of 
Diane  de  Ribaumont,  who  had  lately,  by  her  father's  re- 
quest, spent  a  few  weeks  at  the  chateau  with  her  cousins, 


THE  CnAPLET  OF  PEAELS.  19 

"My  son/ ^  said  tlio  baron,  ''it  is  hard  to  ask  of  babes 
caution  and  secrecy;  but  I  must  know  from  thee  what  thy 
cousin  may  have  heard  of  our  doings!" 

"  I  can^not  tell,  father/'  replied  Berenger;  "  we  played 
more  than  we  talked.  Yet,  monsieur,  you  will  not  be 
angry  with  Eustacie  if  I  tell  you  what  she  said  to  me  to- 
day?'' 

"  Assuredly  not,  my  son. " 

"  She  said  that  her  father  would  take  her  away  if  he 
knew  what  Monsieur  le  Baron  read,  and  what  he  sung." 

"  Thou  hast  done  well  to  tell  me,  my  son.  'Phinkest 
thou  that  this  comes  from  Diane,  or  from  one  of  the  serv- 
ants?" 

"  Oh,  from  Diane,  my  father;  none  of  the  servants 
would  dare  to  say  such  a  thing. " 

"It  is  as  I  suspected  then,"  said  the  baron.  "  That 
child  was  sent  amongst  us  as  a  spy.  Tell  me,  Berenger, 
had  she  any  knowledge  of  our  intended  journey  to  Eng- 
land?" 

"  To  England!  But  no,  father,  I  did  not  even  know  it 
was  intended.  To  England — to  that  Walwyn  which  my 
mother  takes  such  pains  to  make  us  sjoeak  rightly.  Are 
we,  then,  going?" 

"  Listen,  my  son.  Thou  hast  to-day  proved  thyself 
worthy  of  trust,  and  thou  shalt  hear.  My  son,  ere  yet  I 
knew  the  truth  I  was  a  reckless  disobedient  youth,  and  I 
bore  thy  mother  from  her  parents  in  England  without  their 
consent.  Since,  by  Heaven's  grace,  I  have  come  to  a  bet- 
ter mind,  we  have  asked  and  obtained  their  forgiveness,  and 
it  has  long  been  their  desire  to  see  again  their  daughter  and 
her  son.  Moreover,  since  the  accession  of  the  present 
queen,  it  has  been  a  land  where  the  light  is  free  to  shine 
forth;  and  though  I  verily  believe  what  Maitre  Gardon 
says,  that  persecution  is  a  blessed  means  of  grace,  yet  it  is 
grievous  to  expose  one's  deareet  thereto  when  they  are  in 
no  state  to  count  the  cost.  Therefore  would  I  thither  con- 
vey you  all,  and  there  amid  thy  mother's  family  would  we 
openly  abjure  the  errors  in  which  we  have  been  nurtured. 
I  have  already  sent  to  Paris  to  obtain  from  the  queen- 
mother  the  necessary  permission  to  take  my  family  to  visit 
thy  grandfather,  and  it  must  now  be  our  endeavor  to  start 
immediately  on  the  receipt  of  the  reply,  before  the  cheva- 


20  THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEARLS. 

lier's  iuformation  can  lead  to  any  liinderauce  or  detentiou  of 
Eustacie.  ■" 

"  Then  Eustacie  will  go  witli  us,  monsieur?'* 

"  Certainly.  Nothing  is  more  important  than  that  her 
faith  should  be  the  same  as  yours!  But  discretion,  my  son; 
not  a  word  to  the  little  one." 

"  And  Landry,  father?  I  had  rather  Landry  went  than 
Eustacie.     And  Follet,  dear  father,  pray  take  liim.'' 

After  M.  de  Eibaumont's  grave  confidence  to  his  son 
and  heir,  he  was  a  little  scandalized  at  the  comparative 
value  that  the  boy's  voice  indicated  for  wife,  foster-brother, 
and  pony,  and  therefore  received  it  in  perfect  silence,  which 
silence  continued  until  they  reached  the  chateau,  where  the 
lady  met  them  at  the  door  with  a  burst  of  exclamations: 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,  safe,  my  dear  baron.  I  liave  been 
in  despair.  Here  were  the  count  and  his  brother  come  to 
call  on  you  to  join  them  in  disiDcrsing  a  meeting  of  those 
poor  Huguenots,  and  they  would  not  jDcrmit  me  to  send  out 
to  call  you  in!  I  verily  think  they  suspected  that  you  were 
aware  of  it. " 

M.  de  Ribaumont  made  no  answer,  but  sat  wearily  down 
and  asked  for  his  little  Eustacie. 

*' Little  vixen!"  exclaimed  the  baroness,  "she  is  gone; 
her  father  took  her  away  with  him. "  And  as  her  husband 
looked  extremely  displeased,  she  added  that  Eustacie  had 
been  meddling  with  her  jewel  cabinet  and  had  been  put  in 
penitence.  Her  first  impulse  on  seeing  her  father  had  been 
to  cling  to  him  and  pour  out  her  complaints,  whereupon  he 
had  declared  that  he  should  take  her  away  with  him  at 
once,  and  had  in  effect  caused  her  pony  to  be  saddled,  and 
he  had  ridden  away  with  her  to  his  old  tower,  leaving  his 
brother,  the  chevalier,  to  conduct  the  attack  on  the 
Huguenot  conventicle. 

*'  He  had  no  jDOwer  or  right  to  remove  her,'^  said  the 
baron.  "  How  could  you  let  him  do  so  in  my  absence? 
He  had  made  over  her  wardship  to  me,  and  has  no  right  to 
resume  it!'" 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  might  have  insisted  on  his  waiting  till 
your  return;  but,  you  see,  the  children  have  never  done 
anything  but  quarrel  and  fight,  and  always  by  Eustacie 's 
fault;  and  if  ever  they  are  to  endure  each  other,  it  must  be 
by  being  separated  now. " 


THE    CHArLET    OI'    PEAELS.  31 

"Madame,"  said  the  baron  gravely,  "you  have  done 
your  utmost  to  ruin  your  son^s  chances  of  happiness/' 

That  same  evening  arrived  tlie  king's  passport  permit- 
ting the  Baron  de  Ribaumont  and  his  family  to  pay  a  visit 
to  his  wife's  friends  in  England.  The  next  morning  the 
baron  was  summoned  to  speak  to  one  of  his  farmers,  a 
Huguenot,  who  had  come  to  inform  him  that,  through  the 
network  of  intelligence  kept  up  by  the  members  of  the  per- 
secuted faith,  it  had  become  known  that  the  Chevalier  de 
Ribaumont  had  set  off  for  court  that  night,  and  there  was 
little  doubt  that  his  interference  would  lead  to  an  immedi- 
ate revocation  of  the  sanction  to  the  journey,  if  to  no 
severer  measures.  At  best,  the  baron  knew  that,  if  his  own 
absence  were  permitted,  it  would  be  only  on  condition  of 
leaving  his  son  in  the  custody  of  either  the  queen-mother 
or  the  count.  It  had  become  imjjossible  to  reclaim 
Eustacie.  Her  father  would  at  once  have  pleaded  that  she 
was  being  bred  up  in  Huguenot  eri'ors.  All  that  could  be 
done  was  to  hasten  the  de^Darture  ere  the  royal  mandate 
could  arrive.  A  little  Norman  sailing  vessel  was  moored 
two  evenings  after  in  a  lonely  creek  on  the  coast,  and  into  it 
stepped  M.  de  Ribaumont,  with  his  Bible,  Marot's  Psalter, 
and  Calvin's  works,  Berenger  still  tenderly  kissing  a  lock 
of  Follet's  mane,  and  madame  mourning  for  the  j)earls, 
which  her  husband  deemed  too  sacred  an  heir-loom  to  carry 
away  to  a  foreign  land.  Poor  little  Eustacie,  with  her 
cousin  Diane,  was  in  the  convent  of  Bellaise  in  Anjou.  If 
any  one  lamented  her  absence,  it  was  her  father-in-law. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  FAMILY  COUNCIL. 

He  counsels  a  divorce. 

Shakespeare,  King  Henry  Till. 

In  the  spring  of  the  year  1573,  a  family  council  was 
assembled  in  Hurst  Walwyn  Hall.  The  scene  was  a  wain- 
scoted oriel  chamber  closed  off  by  a  screen  from  the  great 
hall,  and  fitted  on  two  sides  by  jiressesof  books,  surmounted 
the  one  by  a  terrestrial,  the  other  by  a  celestial  globe,  the 
first  "  with  the  addition  of  the  Indies  "  in  very  eccentric 
geography,  the  second  with  enormous  stars  studding  highly 


23  THE  CHAPLET  OF  TEAKLS. 

grotesque  figures,   regarded  with   great   awe  by  most  be- 
holders. 

A  solid  oaken  table  stood  in  the  midst,  laded  with  books 
and  papers,  and  in  a  corner,  near  the  open  hearth,  a 
carved  desk,  bearing  on  one  slope  the  largest  copy  of  the 
"  Bishops'  Bible;"  on  the  other,  one  of  the  Pra3^ei'-book. 
The  ornaments  of  the  oaken  mantel-piece  culminated  in  a 
shield  bearing  a  cross  houtoiDiec,  i.  e.,  with  trefoil  termina- 
tions. It  was  supported  between  a  merman  with  a  whelk 
shell  and  a  mermaid  with  a  comb,  and  another  like  Siren 
curled  her  tail  on  the  top  of  the  gaping  baronial  helmet 
above  the  shield,  while  two  more  upheld  the  main  weight 
of  the  chimney-jMece  on  either  side  of  the  glowing  wood-fi  re. 

In  the  seat  of  honor  was  an  old  gentleman,  white-haired, 
and  feeble  of  limb,  but  with  noble  features  and  a  keen, 
acute  eye.  This  was  Sir  William,  Baron  of  Hurst  Walwyn, 
a  valiant  knight  at  Guingate  and  Boulogne,  a  statesman  of 
whom  Wolsey  had  been  jealous,  and  a  ripe  scholar  who  had 
shared  the  friendshijD  of  More  and  Erasmus.  The  lady 
who  sat  opposite  to  him  was  several  years  younger,  still  up- 
right, brisk  and  active,  though  her  hair  was  milk-white; 
but  her  eyes  were  of  undimmed  azure,  and  her  complexion 
still  retained  a  beauteous  j^ink  and  white.  She  was  highly 
educated,  and  had  been  the  friend  of  Margaret  Eoper  and 
her  sisters,  often  sharing  their  walks  in  the  bright  Chelsea 
garden.  Indeed,  the  musk-rose  in  her  own  favorite  nook 
at  Hurst  Walwyn  was  cherished  as  the  gift  of  Sir  Thomas 
himself. 

Near  her  sat  her  sister,  Cecily  St.  John,  a  professed  nun 
at  Romsey  till  her  twenty-eighth  year,  when,  in  the  disper- 
sion of  convents,  her  sister's  home  had  received  her.  There 
had  she  continued,  never  exposed  to  tests  of  ojoinion,  but 
pursuing  her  quiet  course  according  to  her  Benedictine  rule, 
faithfully  keeping  her  vows,  and  following  the  guidance  of 
the  chaplain,  a  college  friend  of  Bishop  Eidley,  and  rejoic- 
ing in  the  use  of  the  vernacular  prayers  and  Scriptures. 
When  Queen  Mary  had  sent  for  her  to  consider  of  the  revival 
of  convents,  her  views  had  been  found  to  have  so  far 
diverged  from  those  of  the  queen  that  Lord  Walwyn  was 
thankful  to  have  her  safe  at  home  again;  and  yet  she  fancied 
herself  firm  to  old  Eomsey  doctrine.  She  was  not  learned, 
like  Lady  Walwyn,  but  her  knowledge  in  ail  needle-work 
and  confectionery  was  consummate,  so  that  half  the  ladies 


THE    ClIAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  23 

in  Dorset  and  Wilts  longed  to  send  their  daughters  to  be 
educated  at  Hurst  Walwyn.  Her  small  figure  and  soft 
cheeks  had  the  gentle  contour  of  a  dove's  form,  nor  had  she 
lost  the  conventual  serenity  of  expression;  indeed  it  was 
curious  that,  let  Lady  Walwyn  an-ay  her  as  she  would, 
whatever  she  wore  bore  a  nun-like  air.  Her  silken  farthin- 
gales hung  like  serge  robes,  her  ruffs  looked  like  mufflers, 
her  coifs  like  hoods,  even  necklaces  seemed  rosaries,  and 
her  scrupulous  neatness  enhanced  the  jiure  unearthl}^  air  of 
all  belonging  to  her. 

Eager  and  lively,  fair  and  handsome,  sat  the  Baronne  de 
Eibaumont,  or  rather,  since  the  higher  title  had  been  laid 
aside.  Dame  Annora  Thistlewood.  The  health  of  M.  de 
Ribaumont  had  been  shattered  at  St.  Quentin,  and  an  in- 
clement night  of  crossing  the  Channel  had  brought  on  an 
attack  on  the  lungs,  from  which  he  only  rallied  enough  to 
amaze  his  English  friends  at  finding  the  gay  dissipated 
young  Frenchman  they  remembered,  infinitely  more  strict 
and  rigid  than  themselves.  He  was  never  able  to  leave  the 
house  again  after  his  first  arrival  at  Hurst  Walwyn,  and 
sunk  under  the  cold  winds  of  the  next  spring,  rejoicing  to 
leave  his  wife  and  son,  not  indeed  among  such  strict  Puri- 
tans as  he  jireferred,  but  at  least  where  the  pure  faith  could 
be  openly  avowed  without  danger. 

Sir  Marmaduke  Thistlewood,  the  husband  to  whom 
Annora  Walwyn  had  been  destined  before  M.  de  Eibau- 
mont  had  crossed  her  path,  was  about  the  same  time  left  a 
widower  with  one  son  and  daughter,  and  as  soon  as  a 
suitable  interval  had  passed,  she  became  a  far  happier  wife 
than  she  had  been  in  either  the  baron's  gay  or  grave  clays. 
Her  son  had  continued  under  the  roof  of  his  grandfather, 
to  whose  charge  his  father  had  specially  committed  him, 
and  thus  had  been  scarcely  separated  from  his  mother, 
since  Combe  Manor  was  not  above  three  miles  across  the 
downs  from  Hurst  Walwyn,  ana  there  was  almost  daily  in- 
tercourse between  the  families.  Lucy  Thistlewood  had  been 
brought  to  Hurst  Walwyn  to  be  something  between  a  maid 
of  honor  and  a  pupil  to  the  ladies  there,  and  her  brother 
Philil^,  so  soon  as  he  was  old  enough,  daily  rode  thither  to 
share  with  Berenger  the  instructions  of  the  chaplain,  Mr. 
Adderley,  who  on  the  present  occasion  formed  one  of  the 
conclave,  sitting  a  little  ajjart  as  not  quite  familiar,  though 
highly  esteemed. 


24:  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

With  an  elbow  on  the  table,  and  one  hand  toying  with 
his  long  riding-whii"),  sat,  booted  and  spurred,  the  jovial 
figure  of  Sir  Marmaduke,  who  called  out,  in  his  hearty 
voice,  "  A  good  riddance  of  an  outlandish  PajDist,  say  1! 
Eead  the  letter,  Bereuger  lad.  No,  no,  no!  English  it!  I 
know  nothing  of  your  mincing  French!  'Tis  the  worst  fault 
I  know  in  you,  boy,  to  be  half  a  Frenchman,  and  have  a 
French  name  " — a  fault  that  good  Sir  Marmaduke  did  his 
best  to  remedy  by  always  terming  his  step-son  Berenger  as 
Berry  Ribmount,  and  we  will  so  far  follow  his  example  as 
henceforth  to  give  the  youth  the  English  form  of  his 
Christian  name.  He  was  by  this  time  a  tall  lad  of  eigliteen, 
with  straight  features,  honest  deej)  blue  eyes,  very  fair  hair 
cut  short  and  brushed  up  to  a  crest  upon  the  middle  of  his 
head,  a  complexion  of  red  and  white  that  all  the  air  of  the 
downs  and  the  sea  failed  to  embrown,  and  that  peculiar 
openness  and  candor  of  expression  which  seems  so  much 
an  English  birthright,  that  the  only  trace  of  his  French 
origin  was,  that  he  betrayed  no  unbecoming  awkwardness 
in  the  somewhat  embarrassing  position  in  which  he  was 
placed,  literallj'  standing,  according  to  the  respectful  dis- 
cipline of  the  time,  as  the  subject  of  discussion,  before  the 
circle  of  his  elders.  His  color  was,  indeed,  deepened,  but 
his  attitude  was  easy  and  graceful,  and  he  used  no  stiff 
rigidity  nor  restless  movements  to  mask  his  anxiety.  At 
Sir  Marmaduke's  desire,  he  could  not  but  redden  a  good 
deal  more,  but  with  a  clear,  unhesitating  voice,  he  trans- 
lated tlie  letter  that  he  had  received  from  the  Chevalier  de 
Eibaumont,  Avho,  by  the  count's  death,  had  become 
Eustacie's  guardian.  It  was  a  request,  in  the  name  of 
Eustacie  and  her  deceased  father,  that  M.  le  Baron  de 
Eibaumont — who,  it  was  understood,  had  embraced  the 
English  heresy — woidd  concur  with  his  sjDOuse  in  demand- 
ing from  his  Holiness  the  Po23e  a  decree  annulling  the 
childish  marriage,  which  could  easily  be  declared  void,  both 
on  account  of  the  consanguinity  of  the  parties  and  the  dis- 
crepancy of  their  faith;  and  which  would  leave  each  of 
them  free  to  marry  again. 

"  JSTothingcan  be  better,''  exclaimed  his  mother.  "  How 
I  have  longed  to  free  him  from  that  little  shrew,  whose 
tricks  were  the  plague  of  my  life!  Now  there  is  notliing 
between  him  and  a  worthy  rnatdi!" 

"  We  can  make  an  Englishman  of  him  now  to  the  back- 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  25 

bone/^  added  Sir  Marmaduke,  "  and  it  is  well  that  it  should 
be  the  lady  herself  who  wants  first  to  be  off  with  it,  so  that 
none  can  say  he  has  j^layed  her  a  scurvy  trick." 

"  What  say  yon,  Berenger?"  said  Lord  Walwyn. 
'*  Listen  to  me,  fair  nejohew.  Yon  know  that  all  my 
remnant  of  hojDC  is  fixed  upon  you,  and  that  I  have  looked 
to  setting  you  in  the  room  of  a  son  of  my  own;  and  I  think 
that  under  our  good  queen  you  will  find  it  easier  to  lead  a 
quiet  God-fearing  life  than  in  your  father's  vexed  country, 
where  the  reformed  religion  lies  under  jDersecution.  Nath- 
less,  being  a  born  liegeman  of  the  King  of  France,  and  heir 
to  estates  in  his  kingdom,  meseemeth  that  before  you  are 
corns  to  years  of  discretion  it  were  well  that  you  should 
visit  them,  and  become  better  able  to  judge  for  yourself 
how  to  deal  in  this  matter  when  you  shall  have  attained 
full  age,  and  may  be  able  to  dispose  of  tiiem  by  sale,  thus 
freeing  yourself  from  allegiance  to  a  foreign  prince.  And 
at  the  same  time  you  can  take  measures,  in  concert  with 
this  young  lady,  for  loosing  the  wedlock  so  unhapjoily  con- 
tracted. " 

"  Oh,  sir,  sir!''  cried  Lady  Thistlewood,  "  send  him  not 
to  France  to  be  burned  by  the  Pajjists!" 

"  Peace,  daughter,"  returned  her  mother.  "  Know  you 
not  that  there  is  friendshijD  between  the  court  party  and  the 
Huguenots,  and  that  the  peace  is  to  be  sealed  by  the  mar- 
riage of  the  king's  sister  with  the  King  of  Navarre?  This 
is  the  most  suitable  time  at  which  he  could  go. ' ' 

"  Then,  madame,"  proceeded  the  lady,  "  he  will  be  run- 
ning about  to  all  the  preachings  on  every  bleak  moor  and 
wet  morass  he  can  find,  catching  his  death  with  rheums, 
like  his  poor  father." 

There  was  a  general  smile,  and  Sir  Marmaduke  laughed 
outright. 

"  Nay,  dame,"  he  said,  ''  have  you  marked  such  a  greed 
of  sermons  in  our  Berry  that  you  should  fear  his  so  untoward- 
ly  running  after  them?" 

"  Tilly- vally.  Sir  Duke,"  quoth  Dame  Annora,  with  a 
flirt  of  her  fan,  learned  at  the  French  court.  "  Men  will 
run  after  a  preacher  in  a  marshy  bog  out  of  pure  f roward- 
ness,  when  they  will  nod  at  a  godly  homily  on  a  well-stuffed 
bench  between  four  walls. " 

"  I  shall  commit  that  matter  to  Mr.  Adderley,  who  is 
good  enough  to  accompany  him,"  said  Lord  Walwyn,  "  and 


26  THE    CHAPLET    OF    J'KAKLS. 

by  whose  counsel  I  trust  that  he  will  steer  the  middle  course 
between  the  Po2ie  and  Calvin." 

Mr.  Adderley  bowed  in  answer,  saying  he  hoped  that  he 
should  be  enabled  to  keep  his  pupiFs  mind  clear  between 
the  allurements  of  Popery  and  the  errors  of  the  Reformed; 
but  meanwhile  Lady  Thistle  wood's  mind  had  taken  a  leap, 
and  she  exclaimed : 

"  And,  SOU;,  whatever  you  do,  bring  home  the  chaplet  of 
pearls!  I  know  they  have  set  their  minds  upon  it.  They 
wanted  me  to  deck  Eustacie  with  it  on  that  unlucky  bridal- 
day,  but  I  would  not  hear  of  trusting  her  with  it,  and  now 
mil  it  rarely  become  our  Lucy  on  your  real  wedding-day.'' 

"  You  travel  swiftly,  daughter,"  said  Lord  Walwyn. 
'*  Nor  have  we  yet  heard  Ihe  thoughts  of  one  who  ever 
thinks  wisely.  Sister,"  he  added,  turning  to  Cecily  St. 
John,  "  hold  not  you  with  us  in  this  matter?" 

"  I  scarce  comjirehend  it,  my  lord,"  was  the  gentle  reply. 
"  I  knew  not  that  it  was  possible  to  dissolve  the  tie  of  wed- 
lock." 

"  The  Pope's  decree  will  suffice,"  said  Lord  Walwyn. 

"Yet,  sir,"  still  said  the  ex-nun,  "  methonght  you  had 
shown  me  that  the  Holy  Father  exceeded  his  power  in  the 
annulling  of  vows. " 

"  Using  mine  own  lessons  against  me,  sweet  sister?"  said 
Lord  Walwyn,  smiling:  "  yet,  remember,  the  contract  was 
rashly  made  between  two  ignorant  babes;  and,  bred  up  as 
they  have  severally  been,  it  were  sui'ely  best  for  them  to  be 
set  free  from  vows  made  without  their  true  will  or  knowl- 
edge." 

"And  yet,"  said  Cecily,  perplexed,  "when  I  saw  my 
niece  here  wedded  to  Sir  Marmaduke,  was  it  not  with  the 
words,  '  What  God  hath  joined  let  no  man  ]3ut  asunder  '?" 

"Good  lack!  aunt,"  cried  Lady  Thistlewood,  "you 
would  not  have  that  poor  lad  wedded  to  a  pert,  saucy,  ill- 
tempered  little  mo25pet,  bred  up  at  that  den  of  iniquity. 
Queen  Catherine's  court,  where  my  poor  baron  never 
trusted  me  after  he  fell  in  with  the  religion,  and  had  heard 
of  King  Antony's  calling  me  the  Swan  of  England." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  loud  shriek,  half  laugh, 
half  fright,  coming  through  the  window,  and  Lady  Thistle- 
wood,  starting  up,  exclaimed,  "  The  child  will  be  drowned! 
Box  their  ears,  Berenger,  and  bring  them  in  directly." 

Berenger,  at  her  bidding,  hurried  out  of  the  room  mto 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  ^7 

tlie  hall,  and  thence  down  a  fltght  of  steps  leading  into  a 
square  walled  garden,  with  a  couple  of  stone  male  and 
female  marine  divinities  accommodating  their  fishy  ex- 
tremities as  best  they  might  on  the  corners  of  the  wall.  The 
square  contained  a  bowling-green  of  exquisitely  kept  turf, 
that  looked  as  if  cnt  out  of  green  velvet,  and  was  edged  on 
its  four  sides  by  a  raised  broad-paved  walk,  with  a  trim- 
ming of  flower-beds,  where  the  earliest  blossoms  were  show- 
ing themselves.  In  the  center  of  each  side  another  paved 
path  intersected  the  green  lawn,  and  the  meeting  of  these 
two  diameters  was  at  a  circular  stone  basin,  presided  over 
by  another  merman,  blowing  a  conch  on  the  top  of  a  pile 
of  rocks.  On  the  graveled  margin  stood  two  -distressed 
little  damsels  of  seven  and  six  j-earsold,  remonstrating  with 
all  their  might  against  the  proceedings  of  a  roguish-looking 
boy  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  who  had  perched  their  junior — a, 
fat,  fair,  kitten-like  element  of  mischief,  aged  about  five — 
€71  croupe  on  the  merman,  and  was  about,  according  to  her 
delighted  request,  to  make  her  a  bower  of  water,  by  ex- 
tracting the  jjlug  and  setting  the  fountain  to  play;  but  as 
the  fountain  had  been  still  all  the  winter,  the  jDlug  was  hard 
of  extraction,  especially  to  a  young  gentleman  who  stood  in- 
securely, with  his  feet  wide  apart,  upon  pointed  and  slip- 
pery jioints  of  rock -work;  and  Berengerhad  time  to  hurry 
up,  exclaiming,  "  Giddy  pate!  Dolly  would  be  drenched 
to  the  skin.'" 

"  And  she  has  on  her  best  blue,  made  out  of  mother's 
French  farthingale,''  cried  the  discreet  Annora. 

"  Do  you  know,  Dolly,  I've  orders  to  box  your  ears,  and 
send  you  in?"  added  Berengcr,  as  he  lifted  his  little  half- 
sister  from  her  jjerilous  position,  speaking,  as  he  did  so, 
without  a  shade  of  foreign  accent,  though  with  much  more 
rapid  utterance  than  was  usual  in  England.  She  clung  to 
him  without  much  alarm,  and  retaliated  by  an  endeavor  to 
box  his  ears,  while  Philip,  slowly  making  his  way  back  to 
the  mainland,  exclaimed,  "Ah,  there's  no  chance  now! 
Here  comes  demure  Misti'ess  Lucy,  and  she  is  the  worst 
mar-sport  of  all. ' ' 

A  gentle  girl  of  seventeen  was  drawing  near,  her  fair  del- 
icately tinted  complexion  suiting  well  with  her  pale  golden 
hair.  It  was  a  sweet  face,  and  was  well  set  off  by  the  sky- 
blue  of  the  farthingale,  which,  with  her  white  lace  coif  and 
white  ruff,  gave  her  something  the  air  of  a  speedwell  flower, 


28  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

more  especially  as  her  expression  seemed  to  have  caught 
much  of  Cecily's  air  of  self-restrained  contentment.  She 
held  a  basketful  of  the  orange  j^istils  of  crocuses,  and  at 
once  seeing  that  some  riot  had  taken  place,  she  said  to  the 
eldest  little  girl,  "  Ah,  Nan,  you  had  been  safer  gathering- 
saffron  with  me." 

"  Nay,  brother  Berry  came  and  made  all  well,''  said 
Annora;  "  and  he  had  been  sliat  up  so  long  in  the  library 
that  he  must  have  been  very  glad  to  get  out. ' ' 

"  And  what  came  of  it?"  cried  Philip.  "  Are  you  to  go 
and  get  yourself  unmarried?" 

"  Unmarried!"  burst  out  the  sisters  Annora  and  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  What,"  laughed  Philip,  "  you  knew  not  that  this  is  an 
ancient  husband,  married  years  before  your  father  and 
mother?" 

"  But  why?"  &aid  Elizabeth,  rather  inclined  to  cry. 
"  What  has  poor  Lucy  done  that  you  should  get  yourself 
unmarried  from  her?" 

There  was  a  laugh  from  both  brothers;  but  Berenger, 
seeing  Lucy's  blushes,  restrained  himself,  and  said,  "  Mine 
was  not  such  good  luck,  Bess,  but  they  gave  me  a  little 
French  wife,  younger  than  Dolly,  and  saucier  still;  and  as 
she  seems  to  wish  to  be  quit  of  me,  why,  I  shall  be  rid  of 
her." 

"See  there,  Dolly,"  said  Philip,  in  a  warning  voice, 
*'  that  is  the  way  you'll  be  served  if  you  do  not  mend  your 
ways." 

"But  I  thought,"  said  Annora  gravely,  "that  people 
were  married  once  for  all,  and  it  could  not  be  undone." 

"  So  said  Aunt  Cecily,  but  my  lord  was  proving  to  her 
out  of  all  law  that  a  contract  between  such  a  couple  of 
babes  went  for  naught,"  said  Berenger. 

"  And  shall  you,  indeed,  see  Paris,  and  all  the  braveries 
there?"  asked  Philip.  "I  thought  my  lord  would  never 
have  trusted  you  out  of  his  sight." 

"And  now  it  is  to  be  only  with  Mr.  Adderley,"  said 
Berenger;  "  but  there  will  be  rare  doings  to  be  seen  at  this 
royal  wedding,  and  may  be  I  shall  break  a  lance  there  in 
your  honor,  Lucy." 

"  And  you'll  bring  me  a  French  fan?"  cried  Bess. 

"  And  me  a  pouncet-box?"  added  Annora. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  39 

"  And  me  a  French  puppet,  dressed  Paris  fashion?'^  said 
Dolly. 

"  And  what  shall  he  bring  Lucy?"  added  Bess. 

"I  know/'  said  Annora;  "the  pearls  that  mother  is 
always  talking  about!  I  heard  her  say  that  Lucy  should 
wear  them  on  her  wedding-day.'' 

"Hush!''  interposed  Lucy,  "don't  you  see  my  father 
yonder  on  the  step,  beckoning  to  you?" 

The  children  flew  toward  Sir  Marmaduke,  leaving  Beren- 
ger  and  Lucy  together. 

"  Not  a  word  to  wish  me  good-speed,  Lucy,  now  I  have 
my  wish?"  said  Berenger. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Lucy,  "  I  am  glad  yon  shall  see  all  those 
brave  French  gentlemen  of  whom  you  used  to  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  they  will  be  all  at  court,  and  the  good  admiral  is 
said  to  be  in  high  favor.  He  will  surely  remember  my 
father. " 

"And  shall  you  see  the  lady?"  asked  Lucy,  under  her 
breath. 

"  Eustacie?  Probably;  but  that  will  make  no  change. 
I  have  heard  too  much  of  Vescadron  de  la  Reine-mere  to 
endure  the  thought  of  a  wife  from  thence,  were  she  the 
Queen  of  Beauty  herself.  And  my  mother  says  that 
Eustacie  would  lose  all  her  beauty  as  she  grew  up — like 
black-eyed  Sue  on  the  down;  nor  did  I  ever  think  her  brown 
skin  and  fierce  black  eyes  to  compare  with  you,  Lucy.  I 
could  be  well  content  never  to  see  her  more;  but,"  and 
here  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a  tone  of  confidence,  "  my  fa- 
ther, when  near  his  death,  called  me,  and  told  me  that  he 
feared  my  marriage  would  be  a  cause  of  trouble  and  tempta- 
tion to  me,  and  that  I  must  deal  with  it  after  my  con- 
science a\  hen  I  was  able  to  judge  in  the  matter.  Something, 
too,  he  said  of  the  treaty  of  marriage  being  a  burden  on 
his  soul,  but  I  know  not  what  he  meant.  If  ever  I  saw 
Eustace  again,  I  was  to  give  her  his  own  copy  of  Clement 
Marot's  Psalter,  and  to  tell  her  that  he  had  ever  loved  and 
prayed  for  her  as  a  daughter;  and,  moreover,  my  father 
added,"  said  Berenger,  much  moved  at  the  remembrance 
it  brought  across  him,  "  that  if  this  matter  proved  a 
burden  and  perplexity  to  me,  I  was  to  joardon  him  as  one 
who  repented  of  it  as  a  thing  done  ere  he  had  learned  to 
wei^h  the  whole  world  against  a  soul." 
Yes,  you  must  see  her/'  said  Lucy. 


30  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  Well,  wliat  more  were  you  going  to  say,  Lucy?'' 

"  I  was  only  tliiiiking/'  said  Lucy,  as  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  him,  "  how  sorry  she  will  be  that  she  let  them  write  that 
letter/' 

Berenger  laughed,  pleased  with  the  simplicity  of  Lucy's 
admiration,  but  with  modesty  and  common  sense  enough 
to  answer,  "  No  fear  of  that,  Lucy,  for  an  heiress,  with  all 
the  court  gallants  of  France  at  her  feet." 

"Ah,  but  you!" 

"  I  am  all  very  well  here,  where  you  have  never  seen 
anybody  but  lubberly  Dorset  squires  that  never  went  to 
London,  nor  Oxford,  nor  bej'ond  their  own  furrows,"  said 
Berenger;  "  but  depend  u2:)on  it,  she  has  been  bred  up  to 
care  for  all  the  airs  and  graces  that  are  all  the  fashion  at 
Paris  now,  and  will  be  as  glad  to  be  rid  of  an  honest  man 
and  a  Protestant  as  I  shall  to  be  quit  of  a  court  pujjpet  and 
a  Papist.  Shall  you  have  finished  my  point-cuffs  next  week, 
Lucy?  Depend  uj)on  it,  no  gentleman  of  them  all  will 
wear  such  dainty  lace  of  such  a  fancy  as  those  will  be." 

And  Lucy  smiled,  well  pleased. 

Coming  from  the  companionship  of  Eustacie  to  that  of 
gentle  Lucy  had  been  to  Berenger  a  change  from  perj)etual 
warfare  to  perfect  supremacy,  and  his  preference  to  his  lit- 
tle sister,  as  he  had  been  taught  to  call  her  from  the  first, 
had  been  loudly  expressed.  Brother  and  sister  they  had 
ever  since  considered  themselves,  and  only  tvithiu  the  last 
few  months  had  possibilities  been  discussed  among  the  eld- 
ers of  the  family,  which,  oozing  out  in  some  mysterious  man- 
ner, had  become  felt  rather  than  known  among  the  young 
people,  yet  without  altering  the  habitual  terms  that  existed 
between  them.  Both  were  so  young  that  love  was  the 
merest,  vaguest  dream  to  them;  and  Lucy,  in  her  quiet 
faith  that  Berenger  was  the  most  beautiful,  excellent,  and 
accomplished  cavalier  the  earth  could  afford,  was  little 
troubled  about  her  own  future  share  in  him.  She  seemed 
to  be  jDromoted  to  belong  to  him  just  as  she  had  grown  up 
to  curl  her  hair  and  wear  ruffs  and  farthingales.  And  to 
Berenger  Lucy  was  a  very  pleasant  feature  in  that  English 
home,  where  he  had  been  far  happier  than  in  the  uncer- 
tainties of  Chateau  Leurre,  between  his  naughty  playfellow, 
his  capricious  mother,  and  morose  father.  If  in  England 
his  lot  was  to  be  cast,  Lucy  was  acquiesced  in  willingly  as  a 
portion  of  that  lot. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  FEAKLS.  31 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TITHONUS. 

A  youth  came  riding  toward  a  palace  gate, 
And  from  the  palace  came  a  child  of  sin 
And  took  him  by  the  curls  and  led  him  in! 
Where  sat  a  company  with  heated  eyes. 

Tennyson,  A  Vision  of  Sin. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June  that  Berenger  de  Ribau- 
mont  first  came  in  sight  of  Paris.  His  grandfather  had 
himself  begun  by  taking  him  to  London  and  jiresenting 
him  to  Queen  Elizabetli,  from  whom  the  hid 's  good  mien 
procured  him  a  most  favorable  reception.  She  willingly 
promised  that  on  which  Lord  Walwyn's  heart  was  set, 
namely,  that  his  title  and  rank  should  be  continued  to  his 
grandson;  and  an  ample  store  of  letters  of  recommendation 
to  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  the  embassador,  and  all  others 
who  could  be  of  service  in  the  French  court,  were  to  do  their 
utmost  to  provide  him  with  a  favorable  recejition  there. 

Then,  with  Mr.  Adderley  and  four  or  five  servants,  he 
had  crossed  the  Channel,  and  had  gone  first  to  Cliateau 
Leurre,  where  he  Avas  rapturously  welcomed  by  the  old 
steward  Osbert.  The  old  man  had  trained  up  his  son  Lan- 
dry, Berenger's  foster-brother,  to  become  his  valet,  and 
had  him  taught  all  the  arts  of  hair-dressing  and  surgery  that 
were  part  of  the  jjrofession  of  a  gentleman^s  body-servant; 
and  the  youth,  a  smart,  acute  young  Norman,  became  a 
valuable  addition  to  the  suite,  the  guidance  of  which, 
through  a  foreign  coimtry,  their  young  master  did  not  find 
very  easy.  Mr.  Adderley  thought  he  knew  French  very 
well,  through  books,  but  the  language  he  spoke  was  not 
available,  and  he  soon  fell  into  a  state  of  bewilderment 
rather  hard  on  his  pupil,  who,  though  a  very  good  boy, 
and  crammed  very  full  of  learning,  was  still  nothing  more 
than  a  lad  of  eighteen  in  all  matters  of  prudence  and  dis- 
cretion. 

Lord  Walwyn  was,  as  we  have  seen,  one  of  those  whose 
Church  principles  had  altered  very  little  and  very  gradual- 
ly; and  in  the  utter  diversity  of  practice  that  prevailed  in 
the  early  years  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  his  chaplain  as  well  as 


32  THE  CHAPLET  OF  TEARLS. 

the  rector  of  tlie  parish  had  altered  no  more  than  was  abso- 
hitely  enjoined  of  the  old  ceremonial.  If  the  poor  Baron 
de  EibauQiout  had  ever  been  well  enough  to  go  to  church 
on  a  Sunday,  he  would  perhaps  have'  thought  himself  still 
in  the  realms  of  what  he  considered  as  darkness;  but  as  he 
had  never  openly  broken  with  the  Gallic  Church,  Berenger 
liad  gone  at  once  from  mass  at  Leurre  to  the  Combe  \Va]- 
wyn  service.  Therefore  when  he  spent  a  Sunday  at  Rouen, 
and  attended  a  Calvinist  service  in  the  building  that  the 
Huguenots  were  ]3ermitted  outside  the  town,  he  was  much 
disappointed  in  it;  he  thought  its  very  fervor  familiar  and 
irreverent,  and  felt  himself  mncli  more  at  home  in  the  ca- 
thedral into  which  he  strayed  in  the  afternoon.  And,  on 
the  Sunday  he  was  at  Leurre,  he  went,  as  a  part  of  his  old 
home-habits,  to  mass  at  the  old  round-arched  church, 
where  he  and  Eustacie  had  jjlayed  each  other  so  many  teas- 
ing tricks  at  his  mother's  feet,  and  had  received  so  many 
admonitory  nips  and  strokes  of  her  fan.  All  he  saw  there 
was  not  congenial  to  him,  but  he  liked  it  vastly  better  than 
the  Huguenot  meeting,  and  was  not  prejoared  to  understand 
or  enter  into  Mr.  Adderley's  vexation,  when  the  tutor  as- 
sured him  that  the  reverent  gestures  that  came  naturally  to 
him  were  regarded  by  the  Protestants  as  idolatry,  and  that 
he  would  be  viewed  as  a  recreant  from  his  faith.  All  Mr. 
Adderley  lioped  was  that  no  one  would  hear  of  it;  and  in 
this  he  felt  liimself  disappointed,  when,  in  the  midst  of  his 
lecture,  there  walked  into  the  room  a  little,  withered, 
brown,  dark-eyed  man,  in  a  gorgeous  dress  of  green  and 
gold,  who  doffing  a  hat  with  an  umbrageous  plume,  precipi- 
itated  himself,  as  far  as  he  could  reach,  toward  Berenger's 
neck,  calling  liim  fair  cousin  and  dear  baron.  The  lad 
stood,  taken  by  surprise  for  a  moment,  thinking  that  Ti- 
thonus  must  have  looked  just  like  tliis,  and  ski^^ped  like 
this,  just  as  he  became  a  grasshopj^er;  then  he  recollected 
that  this  must  be  the  Chevalier  de  Ribaumont,  and  tried  to 
make  up  for  his  want  of  cordiality.  The  old  man  had,  it 
appeared,  come  out  of  Picardy,  where  he  lived  on  sonpe 
maigre  in  a  corner  of  the  ancestral  castle,  while  his  son  and 
daughter  were  at  court,  the  one  in  monsieur's  suite,  the 
other  in  that  of  the  queen-mother.  Ho  liad  come  purely  to 
meet  his  dear  young  cousin,  and  render  him  all  the  assist- 
ance in  his  power,  conduct  him  to  Paris,  and  give  him  in- 
troductions. 


THE    OlIAPLET    OF    PKAKLS.  33 

Berenger,  wlio  had  begun  to  find  six  Englishmen  a 
troublesome  charge  iu  France,  was  rather  relieved  at  not 
being  the  only  French  scholar  of  the  party,  and  the  cheva- 
lier also  hinted  to  him  that  he  spoke  with  a  dreadful  K^or- 
maii  accent  that  would  never  be  tolerated  at  court,  even  if 
it  were  understood  by  the  way.  Moreover,  the  chevalier 
studied  him  all  over,  and  talked  of  Paris  tailors  and  post- 
ure-masters, and,  though  the  pink  of  politeness,  made  it 
evident  that  there  was  immensely  too  much  of  him.  "It 
might  be  the  custom  in  England  to  be  so  tall;  here  no  one 
was  of  anything  like  such  a  height,  but  the  Duke  of  Guise. 
He,  in  his  position,  with  his  air,  could  carry  it  olf,  but  we 
must  adapt  ourselves  as  best  we  can.'' 

And  his  shrug  and  look  of  concern  made  Berenger  for  a 
moment  almost  ashamed  of  that  superfluous  height  of  which 
they  were  all  so  jaroud  at  home.  Then  he  recollected  him- 
self, and  asked,  "  And  why  should  not  I  be  tall  as  well  as 
Monsieur  de  Guise?'' 

"  We  shall  see,  fair  cousin,"  he  answered,  with  an  odd 
satirical  bow;  "  we  are  as  Heaven  made  us.  All  lies  in  the 
management,  and  if  you  had  the  advantages  of  training, 
perhaps  you  could  even  turn  your  height  into  a  grace." 

"Am  I  such  a  great  lubber?"  wondered  Berenger; 
"  they  did  not  think  so  at  home.  ISIo;  nor  did  the  queen. 
She  said  I  was  a  proper  stripling!  "Well,  it  matters  the  less, 
as  I  shall  not  stay  long  to  need  their  favor;  and  I'll  show 
them  there  is  some  use  in  my  inches  in  the  tilt-yard.  But 
if  they  think  me  such  a  lout,  what  would  they  say  to  hon- 
est Philip?" 

The  chevalier  seemed  willing  to  take  on  him  the  whole 
management  of  his  "  fair  cousin."  He  inquired  into  the 
amount  of  the  rents  and  dues  which  old  Osberc  had  collect- 
ed and  held  ready  to  meet  the  young  baron's  exigencies; 
and  which  would,  it  seemed,  be  all  needed  to  make  his  dress 
any  way  jDresentable  at  court.  The  jjcarls,  too,  M'ere  in- 
quired for,  and  handed  over  by  Osbcrt  to  his  young  lord's 
keeping,  with  the  significant  intimation  that  they  had  been 
demanded  when  the  young  Mme.  la  Baronnewent  to  court; 
but  that  he  had  buried  them  in  the  orcliard,  and  made  an- 
swer that  they  were  not  in  the  chateau.  The  contract  of 
marriage,  which  Berenger  could  Just  remember  signing, 
and  seeing  signed  by  his  father,  the  king,  and  the  counl;, 
was  not  forthcoming;  and  the  chevalier  explained  that  it 


34  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

was  in  the  hands  of  a  notary  at  Paris.  For  this  Berenger 
was  not  sorry.  His  grandfather  had  desired  him  to  master 
the  contents,  and  he  thought  he  had  thus  escaped  a  very 
dry  and  useless  study. 

lie  did  not  exactly  dislike  the  old  Chevalier  de  Eibau- 
mont.  The  system  on  which  he  had  been  brought  up  had 
not  been  indulgent,  so  that  compliments  and  admiration 
were  an  agreeable  surprise  to  him;  and  rebuffs  and  rebukes 
from  his  elders  had  been  so  common,  that  hints,  in  the 
delicate  dressing  of  the  old  knight,  came  on  him  almost  like 
gracious  civilities.  There  was  uo  love  lost  between  the 
chevalier  and  the  chaplain,  that  was  plain;  but  how  could 
there  be  between  an  ancient  French  courtier  and  a  sober 
English  divine?  However,  to  Mr.  Adderley's  great  relief, 
no  attempts  were  made  on  Bcrenger's  faith,  his  kinsman 
even  was  disposed  to  promote  his  attendance  at  such  Cal- 
vinist  places  of  worship  as  they  passed  on  the  road,  and 
treated  him  in  all  things  as  a  mere  guest,  to  be  patronized 
indeed,  but  as  much  an  alien  as  if  he  had  been  born  in  Eng- 
land. And  yet  there  was  a  certain  deference  to  him  as 
head  of  the  family,  and  a  friendliness  of  manner  that  made 
the  boy  feel  him  a  real  relation,  and  all  through  the  journey 
it  came  naturally  that  he  should  be  the  entire  manager,  and 
Berenger  the  paymaster  on  a  liberal  scale. 

Thus  had  the  travelers  reached  the  neighborhood  of  Paris, 
when  a  jingling  of  chains  and  a  trampling  of  horses  an- 
nounced the  advance  of  riders,  and  several  gentlemen  with 
a  troop  of  servants  came  in  sight. 

All  were  gayly  dressed,  with  feathered  hats,  and  short 
Spanish  cloaks  jauntily  disposed  over  one  shoulder;  and 
their  horses  were  trapped  with  bright  silvered  ornaments. 
As  they  advanced,  the  chevalier  exclaimed:  "  Ah!  it  is  my 
son!  I  knew  he  would  come  to  meet  me. "  And,  simul- 
taneously, father  and  son  leaped  from  their  horses,  and 
rushed  into  each  other's  arms.  Berenger  felt  it  only  court- 
eous to  dismount  and  exchange  embraces  with  his  cousin, 
but  with  a  certain  sense  of  repulsion  at  the  cloud  of  per- 
fume that  seemed  to  surround  the  younger  Chevalier  de 
Ribaumont;  the  ear-rings  in  his  ears;  the  general  air  of  del- 
icate research  about  his  riding-dress,  and  the  elaborate  at- 
tention paid  to  a  small,  dark,  sallow  face  and  figure,  in 
which  the  only  tolerable  feature  was  an  intensely  black  and 
piercing  pair  of  eyes. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAIJLS.  35 

"  Cousin^  I  am  cncliaiitcci  to  welcome  you.'' 

"  Cousin,  I  thauk  you." 

"  Allow  mo  to  present  you.''  And  Bcreiigcr  bowed  low 
in  succession  several  times  in  rcjily  to  salutations,  as  his 
cousin  Narcisse  named  M.  d'O,  M.  do  la  Valette,  M.  do 
Pibrac,  M.  I'Abbo  do  Mericour,  who  had  done  liim  the 
honor  to  accompany  him  in  coming  out  to  meet  his  father 
and  M.  le  Baron.  Then  the  two  cousins  remounted,  somc- 
thhig  M'as  said  to  the  chevaliers  of  the  devoirs  of  the  demoi- 
sellesj  and  they  rode  on  together  bandying  news  and  rep- 
artee so  fast,  that  Berenger  felt  that  his  ears  had  become 
too  much  accustomed  to  the  more  deliberate  English  speech 
to  enter  at  once  into  what  caused  so  much  excitement,  gest- 
ure, and  wit.  The  royal  marriage  seemed  doubtful — the 
Pope  refused  his  sanction;  nay,  but  means  would  be  found 
— the  king  would  not  be  impeded  by  the  Pope;  Spanish  in- 
fluence— nay,  the  king,  had  thrown  himself  at  the  head  of 
the  Reformed — he  was  bewitched  with  the  grim  old  Coligny 
— if  order  were  not  soon  taken,  the  Louvre  itself  would  be- 
come a  temple. 

Then  one  of  the  party  turned  suddenly  and  said,  ''  But  I 
forget,  monsieur  is  a  Huguenot?" 

"  I  am  a  Protestant  of  the  English  Church,"  said  Be- 
renger, rather  stiffly,  in  the  formula  of  liis  day. 

"  Well,  you  have  come  at  the  right  moment.  'Tis  all  for 
the  sermon  now.  If  the  little  abbe  there  wishes  to  sail 
with  a  fair  wind,  he  should  throw  away  bis  breviary  and 
study  his  Calvin. " 

Berenger's  attention  was  thus  attracted  to  the  Abbe  do 
Mericour,  a  young  man  of  about  twenty,  whose  dress  was 
darker  than  that  of  the  rest,  and  his  hat  of  a  clerical  cut, 
though  in  other  respects  he  was  equipped  with  the  same 
point-device  elegance. 

'*  Calvin  would  never  give  him  the  rich  abbey  of  Selicy," 
said  another;  "  the  breviary  is  the  safer  speculation." 

"  Ah!  Monsieur  de  T\ibaumont  can  tell  you  that  abbeys  are 
no  such  securities  in  these  days.  Let  yonder  admiral  get  the 
upper  hand,  and  we  shall  see  Mericour,  the  happy  cadet 
of  eight  brothers  and  sisters,  turned  adrift  from  their  con- 
vents. What  a  fatherly  spectacle  Monsieur  lo  Marquis  will 
present!" 

Here  the  chevalier  beckoned  to  Berenger,  who,  riding 


36  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

forward,  learned  that  Narcisse  had  engaged  lodgings  for 
him  and  his  suite  at  one  of  the  great  inns,  and  Berenger 
returned  his  thanks,  and  a  jn'oposal  to  the  chevalier  to  be- 
come his  guest.  They  were  by  this  time  entering  the  city, 
where  the  extreme  narrowness  and  dirt  of  the  streets  con- 
trasted with  the  grandeur  of  the  palatial  courts  that  could 
be  partly  seen  through  their  archways.  At  the  hostel  they 
rode  under  such  an  arch,  and  found  themselves  in  a  paved, 
yard  that  would  have  been  grand  had  it  been  clean.  Pri- 
vacy had  scarcely  been  invented,  and  the  party  were  not  at 
all  surprised  to  find  tliat  the  apartment  prepared  for  them 
was  to  serve  both  day  and  night  for  Beronger,  the  chevalier, 
and  Mr.  Adderley,  besides  having  a  truckle-bed  on  the  floor 
for  Osbert.  Meals  were  taken  in  public,  and  it  was  now 
one  o'clock — just  dinner-time;  so  after  a  hasty  toilet  the 
three  gentlemen  descended,  the  rest  of  the  jiarty  having 
ridden  off  to  their  quarters,  either  as  attendants  of  mon- 
sieur or  to  their  families.  It  was  a  sumptuous  meal,  at 
which  a  great  number  of  gentlemen  were  i)resent,  coming 
in  from  rooms  hired  over  shops,  etc. — all,  as  it  seemed,  as- 
sembled at  Paris  for  the  marriage  festivities;  but  Berenger 
began  to  gather  that  they  were  for  the  most  part  adherents 
of  the  Guise  party,  and  far  from  friendly  to  the  Huguenot 
interest.  Some  of  them  appeared  hardly  to  tolerate  Mr. 
Adderley 's  jiresenco  at  the  table;  and  Berenger,  though  his 
kinsman's  jmtronage  secured  civil  treatment,  felt  much  out 
of  his  element,  confused,  unable  to  take  part  in  the  conver- 
sation, and  sure  that  he  was  where  those  at  home  did  not 
wish  to  see  him. 

No  sooner  was  the  dinner  over  than  he  rose  and  ex- 
pressed his  intention  of  delivering  his  letters  of  introduction 
in  jierson  to  the  English  embassador  and  to  the  Admiral  de 
Coligny,  whom,  as  his  father's  old  friend  and  the  hero  of 
his  boyhood,  he  was  most  anxious  to  see.  The  chevalier 
demurred  to  this.  Were  it  not  better  to  take  measures  at 
once  for  making  himself  presentable,  and  Narcisse  had  al- 
ready suiDplied  him  with  directions  to  the  fashionable  hair- 
cutter,  etc.  It  would  be  taken  amiss  if  he  went  to  the  ad- 
miral before  going  to  present  himself  to  the  king. 

"  And  I  can  not  see  my  cousins  till  I  go  to  court?'' 
asked  Berenger. 

"  Most  emphatically,  No.  Have  I  not  told  you  that  the 
one  is  in  the  suite  of  the  young  queen,  the  other  in  that  of 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  37 

the  qncen-mother?    I  will  myself  present  yoU;,  if  only  you 
will  give  niG  the  honor  of  your  guidance.  ■" 

"With  all  thanks,  monsieur/'  said  Berenger;  "my 
grandfather's  desire  was  that  I  should  lose  no  time  in  going 
to  his  friend  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  and  I  had  best  sub- 
mit myself  to  his  judgment  as  to  my  apj^earance  at  court/' 

On  this  point  Berenger  was  resolute,  though  the  cheva- 
lier recurred  to  the  danger  of  any  proceeding  that  might  be 
unacceptable  at  court.  Berenger,  harassed  and  im2)atient, 
repeated  that  he  did  not  care  about  the  court,  and  wished 
merely  to  fulfill  his  purpose  and  return,  at  which  his  kins- 
man shook  his  head  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  mut- 
tered to  himself,  "  Ah,  what  does  ho  know!  He  will  regret 
it  when  too  late;  but  I  have  done  my  best. " 

Berenger  paid  little  attention  to  this,  but  calling  Landry 
Osbert,  and  a  couple  of  his  men,  he  bade  them  take  their 
swords  and  bucklers,  and  escort  him  in  his  walk  through 
Paris.  He  set  off  with  a  sense  of  escape,  but  before  he  had 
made  many  steps,  he  was  obliged  to  turn  and  warn  Hum- 
frey  and  Jack  that  they  were  not  to  walk  swaggering  along 
the  streets,  with  hand  on  sword,  as  if  every  Frenchman 
they  saw  was  the  natural  foe  of  their  master. 

Very  tall  were  the  houses,  very  close  and  extremely  filthy 
the  streets,  very  miserable  the  beggars;  and  yet  hero  and 
there  was  to  be  seen  the  open  front  of  a  most  brilliant  shop, 
and  the  thoroughfares  were  crowded  with  richly  dressed 
gallants.  Even  the  wider  streets  gave  little  space  for  the 
career  of  the  gay  horsemen  who  rode  along  them,  still  less 
for  the  great,  cumbrous,  though  gayly  decked  coaches,  in 
which  ladies  ajjpeared  glittering  with  jewels  and  fan  in 
hand,  with  tiny  white  dogs  on  their  knees. 

The  persons  of  whom  Berenger  inquired  the  way  all  un- 
capped most  res}3ectfully,  and  replied  with  much  courtesy; 
but  when  the  hotel  of  the  English  embassador-  had  been 
pointed  out  to  him,  he  hardly  believed  it,  so  foul  and 
squalid  was  the  street,  where  a  large  nail-studded  door  oc- 
cupied a  wide  archway.  Here  was  a  heavy  iron  knocker, 
to  which  Osbert  applied  himself.  A  little  door  was  at  once 
opened  by  a  large,  powerful  John  Bull  of  a  porter,  whose 
looks  expanded  into  friendly  welcome  when  he  heard  the 
English  tongue  of  the  visitor.  Inside,  the  scene  was  very 
unlike  that  without.  The  hotel  was  built  round  a  paved 
court,  adorned  with  statues  and  stone  vases,  with  yews  and 


38  THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEAIILS. 

cyjH-esscs  in  them,  and  a,  grand  fliglit  of  stops  led  np  to  the 
grand  center  of  the  house,  around  which  were  collected  a 
iiuinher  of  attendants,  wearing  the  AValsiiigham  cohn-s. 
Among  these  Berenger  left  his  two  Englishmen,  well  con- 
tent to  have  fallen  into  an  English  colony.  Landry 
followed  him  to  an  anteroom,  while  the  groom  of  the  cham- 
bers went  forward  to  announce  the  visitor,  Bereuger  wait- 
ing to  know  whether  the  embassador  would  be  at  liberty  to 
see  him. 

Almost  immediately  the  door  was  reopened,  and  a  keen- 
looking  gentleman,  about  six-and-thirty  years  of  age,  rather 
short  in  stature,  but  nevertheless  very  dignified-looking, 
came  forward  with  outscretched  hands — ■''  Greet  you  well, 
my  Lord  de  Piibaumout.  We  expected  your  coming.  Wel- 
come, mine  honored  friend's  grandson." 

And  as  Berenger  bent  low  in  reverent  greeting,  Sir 
Francis  took  his  hand  and  kissed  his  brow,  sayhig,  "  Come 
in,  my  young  friend;  we  are  but  sitting  over  our  wine  and 
comfits  after  dinner.     Have  you  dined?'" 

Berenger  explained  that  he  had  dined  at  the  inn,  where 
he  had  taken  lodgings. 

"  Nay,  but  that  must  not  be.  My  Lord  Walwyn's 
grandson  here,  and  not  my  guest!  You  do  me  wrong,  sir, 
in  not  having  ridden  hither  at  once." 

"  Truly,  my  lord,  I  voitui'cl  not.  They  sent  me  forth 
with  quite  a  company — my  tutor  and  six  grooms. " 

"  Our  chajdain  will  gladly  welcome  his  reverend 
brother,"  said  Sir  Francis;  "  and  as  to  the  grooms,  one  of 
my  fellows  shall  go  and  bring  them  and  their  horses  up. 
What!"  rather  gravel}^,  as  Berenger  still  hesitated.  "  I 
have  letters  for  you  liere,  which  methinks  will  make  your 
grandfather's  wish  clear  to  you." 

Berenger  saw  the  embassador  was  displeased  with  his  re- 
luctance, and  answered  quickly,  "  In  sooth,  my  lord,  I 
would  esteem  myself  only  too  happy  to  be  thus  honored, 
but  in  sooth — "  he  repeated  himself,  and  faltered. 

"  In  sooth,  you  expected  more  freedom  tlKui  in  my  grave 
house,"  said  Walsingham,  displeased. 

"  Not  so,  my  lord:  it  would  be  all  that  I  could  desire; 
but  I  have  done  hastily.  A  kinsman  of  mine  lias  come  up 
to  Paris  with  me,  and  I  have  made  him  my  guest.  I  know 
not  how  to  break  with  him — the  Chevalier  de  Ribaumont. " 

"  What,  the  young  ruffler  in  monsieur's  suite?" 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  39 

"No,  my  lord;  his  father,  lie  comes  on  my  bushiess. 
He  is  an  old  man,  and  can  ill  bear  the  cost,  and  I  could 
scarce  throw  him  over." 

Berenger  spoke  with  sncli  earnest,  bright,  open  simjjh'c- 
ity,  and  look  so  boyish  and  confiding,  that  Sir  Francises 
heart  was  won,  and  he  smiled  as  he  said,  "  Right,  lad,  you 
are  a  considerate  youth.  It  were  not  well  to  cast  off  your 
kinsman;  but  when  you  have  read  your  letters,  you  nuiy 
well  plead  your  grandfather's  desires,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
hint  from  her  grttce  to  have  an  eye  to  you.  And  for  the 
rest,  you  can  acquit  yourself  gracefulIyHx)  the  gentleman, 
by  asking  him  to  occupy  the  lodging  that  you  had  taken.  " 

Berenger's  face  brightened  up  in  a  manner  that  sjioke 
for  his  sincerity;  and  Sir  Francis  added,  "  And  where  be 
these  lodgings?" 

"At  the  Croix  de  Lorraine,'' 

"  Ha!  your  kinsman  has  taken  you  into  a  nest  of  Guis- 
ards.  But  come,  let  me  present  you  to  my  wife  and  my 
other  guests,  then  will  I  give  you  your  letters,  and  you  shall 
return  and  make  your  excuses  to  Monsieur  le  Chevalier." 

Berenger  seemed  to  himself  to  be  on  familiar  ground 
again  as  his  host  thus  assumed  the  direction  of  him  and 
ushered  him  into  a  large  dining-hall,  where  the  table  had 
been  forsaken  in  favor  of  a  lesser  table  jolaced  in  the  ample 
window,  round  which  sat  assembled  some  six  or  eight  per- 
sons, with  f I'uit,  wine,  and  conserves  before  them,  a  few 
little  dogs  at  their  feet  or  on  their  laps,  and  a  lute  lying  on 
the  knee  of  one  of  the  young  gentlemen.  Sir  Francis  jire- 
sented  the  young  Lord  de  Eibaumont,  their  expected  guest, 
to  Lady  Walsingham,  from  whom  he  received  a  cordial  wel- 
come, and  her  two  little  daughters,  Frances  and  Elizabeth, 
and  likewise  to  the  gentleman  with  the  lute,  a  youth  about 
a  year  older  than  Berenger,  and  of  very  striking  and  pre- 
possessing countenance,  who  was  named  as  Mr.  Sidney,  the 
son  of  the  Lord  IJeputy  of  Ireland.  A  couple  of  gentlemen 
who  ivould  in  these  times  have  been  termed  attaches,  a 
couple  of  lady  attendants  upon  Lady  Walsingham,  and  the 
chaplain  made  up  the  party,  which  on  this  day  chanced 
only  to  include,  besides  the  household,  the  young  traveler, 
Sidney.  Berenger  was  at  once  seated,  and  accepted  a  wel- 
coming-cup of  wine  {i.  e.  a  long  slender  glass  with  a  beau- 
tifully twisted  stem),  responded  to  friendly  inquiries  about 
his  relatives  at  home,  and  acknowledged  the  healths  that 


40  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

were  drunk  in  honor  of  their  names;  after  which  Lady 
Walsingham  begged  that  Mr.  Sidney  would  sing  the  mad- 
rigal he  had  before  promised:  afterward  a  glee  was  sung  by 
Sidney,  one  of  the  gentlemen,  and  Lady  Walsingham;  and 
it  was  discovered  that  M.  de  Kibaumont  had  a  trained  ear 
atid  the  very  voice  that  was  wanting  to  the  Italian  song 
they  were  practicing.  And  so  sped  a  happy  hour,  till  a 
booted  and  spiiried  messenger  came  in  with  letters  for  his 
excellency,  who,  being  thus  roused  from  his  dreamy  enjoy- 
ment of  the  music,  carried  young  Kibaumont  off  with  him 
to  his  cabinet,  and  there  made  over  to  him  a  packet,  with 
good  news  from  home,  and  orders  that  made  it  clear  that 
he  could  do  no  other  than  accept  the  hospitality  of  the  em- 
bassy. Thus  armed  with  authority,  he  returned  to  the 
Croix  de  Lorraine,  where  Mr.  Adderley  could  not  contain 
his  joy  at  the  change  to  quarters  not  only  so  much  more 
congenial,  but  so  much  safer;  and  the  chevalier,  after  some 
polite  demur,  consented  to  remain  in  possession  of  the 
rooms,  being  in  fact  well  satisfied  with  the  arrangement. 

"  Let  him  steep  himself  up  to  the  lips  among  the  En- 
glish," said  Tithonus  to  his  son.  "  Thus  will  he  peaceably 
relinquish  to  you  all  that  should  have  been  yours  from  the 
first,  and  at  court  will  only  be  looked  on  as  an  overgrown 
English  page. " 

The  change  to  the  embassador's  made  Berenger  happy  at 
once.  He  was  not  French  enough  in  breeding,  or  even 
constitution,  to  feel  the  society  of  the  Croix  de  Lorraine 
congenial;  and,  i':ind  as  the  chevalier  showed  himself,  ifc 
was  with  a  wonderful  sense  of  relief  that  Berenger  shook 
himself  free  from  both  his  fawning  and  his  patronizing. 
There  was  a  constant  sense  of  not  understanding  the  old 
gentleman's  aims,  whereas  in  Walsingham 's  house  all  was 
as  clear,  easy,  and  open  as  at  home. 

And  though  Berenger  had  been  educated  in  the  country, 
it  had  been  in  the  same  tone  as  that  of  his  new  friends.  He 
was  greatly  approved  by  Sir  Francis  as  a  stripling  of  parts 
and  modesty.  Mr.  Sidney  made  him  a  com2)anion,  and 
the  young  matron.  Lady  Walsingham,  treated  him  as 
neither  lout  nor  lubber.  Yet  he  could  not  be  at  ease  in  his 
state  between  curiosity  and  re^nilsion  toward  the  wife  who 
was  to  be  discarded  by  mutiuil  consent.  The  sight  of  the 
scenes  of  his  early  childhood  had  stirred  up  warmer  recol- 
lections of   the  pretty  little  playf  id  torment  who  through 


THE  CHArLET  OF  PEARLS.  41 

the  vista  of  years  assumed  the  air  of  a  triciisy  elf  rather 
than  the  little  vixen  he  used  to  thinlc  her.  His  curiosity 
had  been  further  stimulated  by  the  sight  of  his  rival,  Nar- 
cisse,  whose  effeminate  ornaments,  small  stature,  and  seat 
on  horseback  filled  8ir  M; ir mad u Ice's  pupil  with  inquisitive 
disdain  as  to  the  woman  who  could  j^refer  anything  so  un- 
manly. 

Sidney  was  to  be  presented  at  the  after-dinner  recejition 
at  the  Louvre  the  next  day,  and  Sir  Francis  proposed  to 
take  young  liibaumont  with  him.  Berenger  colored,  and 
spoke  of  his  equipment,  and  Sidney  good-naturedly  otfered 
to  come  and  inspect.  That  young  gentleman  was  one  of 
the  daintiest  in  apparel  of  his  day;  but  he  was  amazed  that 
the  suit  in  which  Berenger  had  paid  his  devoir  to  Queen 
Elizabeth  should  have  been  set  aside — it  was  of  jjearl-gray 
velvet,  slashed  with  rose-colored  satin,  and  in  sluipe  and 
fashion  j^oint-device — unless,  as  the  embassador  said  good- 
Immoredly,  "  my  young  Lord  Ribaumont  wished  to  be  one 
of  monsieur's  clique.^'  Thus  arrayed,  then,  and  with  the 
chaplet  of  pearls  bound  round  the  small  cap,  with  a  heron- 
plume  that  sat  jauntily  on  one  side  of  his  fair  curled  head, 
Berenger  took  his  seat  beside  the  hazel-eyed,  brown-haired 
Sidney,  in  his  white  satin  and  crimson,  and  with  the  em- 
bassador and  his  attendants  was  rolled  off  in  the  great 
state-coach  drawn  by  eiglit  horses,  which  had  no  sinecure 
in  dragging  the  ponderous  machine  through  the  unsavoiy 
debris  of  the  streets. 

Eoyalty  fed  in  public.  The  sumptuons  banqueting-roora 
contained  a  barrier,  partitioning  off'  a  space  where  Charles 
IX.  sat  alone  at  his  table,  as  a  State  spectacle.  He  was  a 
sallow,  unhealthy-looking  youth,  with  large  prominent 
dark  eyes  and  a  melancholy  dreaminess  of  expression,  as  if 
the  whole  ceremony,  not  to  say  the  world  itself,  were  dis- 
tasteful. Now  and  then,  as  though  endeavoring  to  cast  off 
the  mood,  he  would  call  to  some  gentlemen  and  exchange 
a  rough  jest,  generally  fortified  with  a  ti'emendous  oath, 
that  startled  Berenger's  innocent  ears.  He  scarcely  tasted 
what  was  put  on  his  plate,  but  drank  largely  of  sherbet, 
and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  linger  through  the  space  allotted 
for  the  ceremony. 

Silence  was  ol^served,  but  not  so  absolute  that  Walsing- 
ham  could  not  ])oint  out  to  his  .young  companions  the  nota- 
abilities  present.      The   lofty   figure   of   Henri,    Duke   of 


42  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS, 

Guise,  towered  high  above  all  around  him,  and  his  grand 
features,  proud  lip,  and  stern  eye  claimed  such  natural 
superiority  that  Berenger  for  a  moment  felt  a  glow  on  his 
cheek  as  he  remembered  his  challenge  of  his  right  to  rival 
that  splendid  stature.  And  yet  Guise  was  very  little  older 
than  himself;  but  he  walked,  a  prince  of  men,  among  a 
crowd  of  gentlemen,  attendants  on  him  rather  than  on  the 
king.  The  elegant  but  indolent-looking  Duke  de  Mont- 
morency had  a  much  more  attractive  air,  and  seemed  to 
hold  a  kind  of  neutral  ground  between  Guise  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  Reformed,  who  mustered  at  the  other  end  of 
the  apartment.  Almost  by  intuition,  Berenger  knew  the 
fine  calm  features  of  the  gray-haired  Admiral  de  Coligny 
before  he  heard  him  so  addressed  by  the  king's  loud,  rough 
voice.  When  the  king  rose  from  table  the  presentations 
took  place,  but  as  Charles  heard  the  name  of  the  Baron  de 
Ribaumont,  he  exclaimed,  "  "What,  monsieur,  are  you  pre- 
sented here  by  our  good  sister's  representative?" 

Walsingham  answered  for  him,  alluding  to  the  negotia- 
tions for  Queen  Elizabeth's  marriage  with  one  of  the 
French  princes — "  Sire,  in  the  present  happy  conjuncture,  it 
needs  not  be  a  less  loyal  Frenchman  to  have  an  inheritance 
in  the  lands  of  my  royal  mistress." 

*'  What  say  you,  monsieur?*'  sharply  demanded  the  king; 
*'  are  you  come  here  to  renounce  your  country,  religion — 
and  love,  as  I  have  been  told?" 

"  I  hope,  sire,  never  to  be  unfaithful  where  I  owe  faith," 
said  Berenger,  heated,  startled,  and  driven  to  extremity. 

"  Not  ill-answered  for  the  English  giant,"  said  Charles 
aside  to  an  attendant:  then  turning  eagerly  to  Sidney, 
whose  transcendent  accomplishments  had  already  become 
renowned,  Charles  welcomed  him  to  court,  and  began  to 
discuss  Ronsard's  last  sonnet,  showing  no  small  taste  and 
knowledge  of  poetry.  Greatly  attracted  by  Sidney,  the  king 
detained  the  whole  English  party  by  an  invitation  to  Wal- 
singham to  hear  music  in  the  queen-mother's  ajjartments; 
and  Berenger,  following  in  the  wake  of  his  friends,  found 
himself  in  a  spacious  hall,  with  a  raised  gallery  at  one  end 
for  the  musicians,  the  walls  decorated  with  the  glorious 
I^aintings  collected  by  Fran9ois  L,  Greek  and  Roman 
statues  clustered  at  the  angles,  and  cabinets  with  gems  and 
antiques  disposed  at  intervals.  Not  that  Berenger  beheld 
much  of  this:  he  was  absolutely  dazzled  with  the  brilliant 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  TEARLS.  43 

assembly  into  which  he  was  admitted.  There  moved  the 
most  beautiful  women  iu  France,  in  every  lovely  colored 
tint  that  dress  could  assume:  their  bosoms,  arms,  and  hair 
sparkling  with  jewels;  their  gossamer  rufl's  surrounding 
their  necks  like  fairy  wings;  their  light  laugh  minghng 
with  the  music,  as  they  sat,  stood,  or  walked  in  graceful 
attitudes  conversing  with  one  another  or  with  the  cavaliers, 
whose  brilliant  velvet  and  jewels  fitly  mixed  with  their 
bright  array.  These  were  the  sirens  he  had  heard  of,  the 
"squadron  of  the  qneen-mother,^'  the  dangerous  beings 
against  whom  he  was  to  steel  himself.  And  which  of  them 
was  the  child  he  had  played  with,  to  whom  his  vows  had 
been  plighted  ?  It  was  like  some  of  the  enchanting  dreams 
of  romance  merely  to  look  at  these  fair  creatures;  and  he 
stood  as  if  gazing  into  a  magic-glass  till  Sir  Francis  Wal- 
singham,  looking  round  for  him,  said,  "  Come,  then,  my 
young  friend,  you  must  do  your  devoirs  to  the  queens. 
Sidney,  I  see,  is  as  usual  in  his  element;  the  king  has  seized 
upon  him." 

Catherine  de  Medicis  was  seated  on  a  large  velvet  chair, 
conversing  with  the  German  embassador.  Never  beauti- 
ful, she  appeared  to  more  advantage  in  her  mature  years 
than  in  her  girlhood,  and  there  was  all  the  dignity  of  a  life- 
time of  rule  iu  her  demeanor  and  gestures,  the  bearing  of 
her  head,  and  motion  of  her  exquisite  hands.  Her  eyes 
were  like  her  son's,  j^rominent,  and  gave  the  sense  of  seeing 
all  round  at  once,  and  her  smile  was  to  the  highest  degree 
engaging.  She  received  the  young  Baron  de  Ribaumont 
far  more  graciously  than  Charles  had  done,  held  out  her 
hand  to  be  kissed,  and  observed  "  that  the  young  gentleman 
was  like  madame  sa  mere  whom  she  w^ell  remembered  as 
much  admired.  Was  it  true  that  she  was  married  iu  Eng- 
land?" 

Berenger  bowed  assent. 

"  Ah!  you  English  make  gooa  spouses,'*  she  said,  with  a 
smile.  "  Ever  satisfied  Avith  home!  But,  your  excel- 
lency," added  she,  turning  to  Walsinghani,  "  what  stones 
would  best  please  my  good  sister  for  the  setting  of  the  jewel 
my  son  would  send  her  with  his  portrait?  He  is  all  for 
emeralds,  for  the  hue  of  hope;  but  I  call  it  the  eolor  of 
jealousy. " 

Walsingham  made  a  sign  that  Berenger  had  better  re- 
treat from  hearing  the  solemn  coquetting  carried  on  by  the 


44  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

maiden  queen  through  her  gravest  embassadors.  He  fell 
back,  and  remained  watching  the  brilliant  throng,  trying 
in  vain  to  discover  the  bright  merry  eyes  and  velvet  cheek 
he  remembered  of  old.  Presently  a  kindly  salutation  in- 
terrupted him,  and  a  gentleman  who  perceived  him  to  be  a 
stranger  began  to  try  to  set  him  at  ease,  pointed  out  to  him 
the  handsome,  foppishly  dressed  Duke  of  Anjou,  and  his 
ugly,  sjjiteful- little  brother  of  Alen9on,  then  designated  as 
Queen  Elizabeth's  future  husband,  who  was  saying  some- 
thing to  a  lady  that  made  her  color  and  bite  her  lips.  "  Is 
that  the  younger  queen.^"  asked  Berenger,  as  his  eyes  fell 
o]i  a  sallow,  dark-conii^lexioned,  sad -looking  little  ci-eature  in 
deep  mourning,  and  with  three  or  four  such  stately-looking, 
black-robed,  82)anish-looking  duennas  round  her  as  to  prove 
her  to  be  a  jierson  of  high  consequence. 

"  That?  Oh,  no;  that  is  Madame  Catherine  of  Navarre, 
who  has  resided  here  ever  since  her  mother's  death,  await- 
ing her  brother,  our  royal  bridegroom.  See,  here  is  the 
bride,  Madame  Marguerite,  conversing  with  Monsieur  de 
Guise." 

Berenger  paid  but  little  heed  to  Marguerite's  showy  but 
already  rather  coarse  beauty,  and  still  asked  where  was  the 
young  Queen  Elizaljeth  of  Austria.  She  was  unwell,  and 
not  in  presence.  "Ah!  then,"  he  said,  "her  ladies  will 
not  be  here. " 

"  That  is  not  certain.  Are  you  wishing  to  see  anyone 
of  them?" 

"  I  w^ould  like  to  see — "  He  could  not  help  coloring  till 
his  cheeks  rivaled  the  color  of  his  sword-knot.  "  I  want 
just  to  know  if  she  is  here.  I  know  not  if  she  be  called 
Madame  or  Mademoiselle  de  Eibaumont. " 

"  The  fair  Eibaumont!  Assuredly;  see,  she  is  looking  at 
you.     Shall  I  present  you?" 

A  pair  of  exceedingly  brilliant  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on 
Berenger  wicli  a  sort  of  haughty  curiosity  and  half  recog- 
nition. The  face  was  handsome  and  brilliant,  but  he  felt 
indignant  at  iiot  perceiving  a  particle  of  ablush  at  encount- 
ering him,  indeed  rather  a  look  of  amusement  at  the  deep 
glow  which  his  fair  complexion  rendered  so  a2iparent.  He 
would  fain  have  escajjed  from  so  public  an  interview,  but 
her  eye  was  upon  him,  and  there  was  no  avoiding  the  meet- 
ing. As  he  moved  nearer  he  saw  what  a  beautiful  person 
she  was,  her  rich  ^jrimrose-colored  clress  setting  oif  her 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  45 

brunette  complexion  and  lier  stately  presence.  She  looked 
older  than  he  had  expected;  but  this  was  a  hot-bed  where 
every  one  grew  up  early,  and  the  expression  and  miinner 
made  him  feel  that  an  old  intimacy  was  here  renewed,  and 
that  they  were  no  strangers. 

"  We  need  no  introduction,  cousin,"  she  said,  giving  a 
hand  to  be  saluted.  '' I  knew  you  instantly.  It  is  the  old 
face  of  Chateau  Leurre,  only  gone  up  so  high  and  become 
so  handsome. " 

"  Cousins,"  thought  he.  "  Well,  it  makes  things 
easier!  but  what  audacity  to  be  so  much  at  her  ease,  when 
Lucy  would  have  sunk  into  the  earth  with  shame."  His 
bow  hatl  saved  him  the  necessity  of  answering  in  words,  and 
the  lady  continued: 

"  And  madame  voire  viere.  Is  she  well?  She  was  very 
good  to  me.'' 

Berenger  did  not  think  that  kindness  to  Eustacie  had 
been  her  chief  perfection,  but  he  answered  that  she  was 
well  and  sent  her  commendations,  which  the  young  lady 
acknowledged  by  a  magnificent  courtesy.  "  And  as  beau- 
tiful as  ever?"  she  asked. 

"  Quite  as  beautiful,"  he  said,  "only  somewhat  more 
onhonpoint." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  smiling  graciously,  and  raising  her 
splendid  eyes  to  his  face,  "1  understand  better  Avhat  that 
famous  beauty  was  now,  and  the  fairness  that  caused  her 
to  be  called  the  Swan." 

It  was  so  personal  that  the  color  rushed  again  into  his 
cheek.  No  one  liad  ever  so  presumed  to  admire  him;  and 
with  a  degree  gratified  and  surj^rised,  and  sensible  more 
and  more  of  the  extreme  beauty  of  the  lady,  there  was  a 
sort  of  alarm  about  him  as  if  this  were  the  very  fascination 
he  had  been  warned  against,  and  as  if  she  were  casting  a 
net  about  him,  which,  wife  as  she  was,  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  him  to  break. 

"  Nay,  monsieur,''  she  laughed,  "  is  a  M'ord  from  one  so 
near  too  much  for  your  modesty?  Is  it  possible  that  no 
one  has  yet  told  you  of  your  good  mien?  Or  do  they  not 
appreciate  Greek  noses  and  blue  eyes  in  the  land  of  fat 
Englishmen?  How  have  you  ever  lived  en jyrovince?  Oar 
l)rinces  are  ready  to  hang  themselves  at  the  thought  of  be- 
ing in  such  banishment,  even  at  court — indeed,  monsieur 


4(j  O^SE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAHLS. 

has  contrived  to  transfer  the  noose  to  Monsieur  d'Alengon. 
Have  you  been  afc  court,  cousin?" 

"  I  have  been  presented  to  the  queen.'"' 

Slie  tlien  proceeded  to  ask  questions  about  the  chief  per- 
sonages with  a  rapid  inteUigence  that  surprised  liim  as  well 
as  alarmed  him,  for  lie  felt  more  and  more  in  the  power  of 
a  very  clever  as  well  as  beautiful  woman,  and  the  attraction 
she  exercised  made  him  long  the  more  to  escape;  but  she 
smiled  and  signed  away  several  cavaliers  who  would  have 
gained  her  attention.  She  s2)oke  of  Queen  Mary  of  Scot- 
land, then  in  the  fifth  year  of  her  captivity,  and  asked  if  he 
did  not  feel  bound  to  her  service  by  having  been  once  her 
jiartner.     Did  not  he  remember  that  dance? 

"  I  have  heard  my  mother  speak  of  it  far  too  often  to 
forget  it,"  said  Berenger,  glowing  again  for  her  who  could 
speak  of  that  occasion  without  a  blush. 

"  You  wish  to  gloss  over  your  first  inconstancy,  sir,"  she 
said,  archly;  but  he  was  spared  from  further  reply  by  Philip 
Sidney's  coming  to  tell  him  that  the  embassador  was  ready 
to  return  home.  Ke  took  leave  with  an  alacrity  that  re- 
doubled his  courtesy  so  much  that  he  desired  to  be  com- 
mended to  his  cousin  Diane,  whom  he  had  not  seen. 

"  To  Diane?"  said  the  lady,  inquiringly. 

"  To  Mademoiselle  Diane  de  Ribaumont,"  he  corrected 
himself,  ashamed  of  his  English  rusticity.  ''  I  beg  2}ardon 
if  I  spoke  too  familiarly  of  her." 

"  She  should  be  fiattered  by  Monsieur  le  Baron's  slight- 
est recollection,"  said  the  lady,  with  an  ironical  tone  that 
thei'e  was  no  time  to  analyze,  and  with  a  mutual  gesture  of 
courtesy  lie  followed  Sidney  to  where  Sir  Francis  awaited 
them. 

"  Well,  what  think  you  of  the  French  court?"  asked 
Sidney,  so  soon  as  the  young  men  were  in  private. 

"  I  only  know  that  you  may  bless  your  good  fortune  that 
you  stand  in  no  danger  from  a  wife  from  thence." 

"  Ha!"  cried  Sidney,  laughing,  "  you  found  your  lawful 
owner.     Why  did  you  not  present  me?" 

"  I  was  ashamed  of  her  bold  visage." 

"  WhatI — was  she  the  beauteous  demoiselle  I  found  you 
gallanting,"  said  Philip  Sidney,  a  good  deal  entertained, 
"  who  was  gazing  at  you  with  such  visible  admiration  iu 
her  languishing  black  eyes?" 

"  The  foul  fiend  seize  their  impudence!" 


THE    CITAPLET    OF    rEAPtl.S.  47 

"  Fy!  for  shame!  trms  to  sjieak  of  your  o\v)i  wife/'  said 
the  mischievous  Sidney,  "  and  tlie  fairest — " 

"  (Jo  to,  (Sidney.  Were  she  fairer  than  Venus,  with  a 
king(h)m  to  her  dower,  I  would  none  of  a  woman  without  a 
bhish." 

"  What,  in  converse  with  her  wedded  husband,'^  said 
Sidney.     "  Were  not  that  overshamefastness?" 

"  Nay,  now,  Sidney,  in  good  sooth  give  me  your  02)inion. 
Should  slie  set  her  fancy  on  me,  even  in  this  hour,  am  I 
bound  in  honor  to  hold  by  this  accursed  wedlock — lock,  as 
it  may  well  be  called?" 

"  I  know  no  remedy,"  said  Sidney,  gravely,  ''  save  the 
two  enchanted  founts  of  love  and  hate.  They  can  not  be 
far  away,  since  it  was  at  the  siege  of  Paris  that  Rinaldo  and 
Orlando  drank  thereof. " 

Another  question  that  Berenger  would  fain  have  asked 
Sidney,  but  could  not  for  very  shame  and  dread  of  mockery, 
was,  whether  he  himself  were  so  dangerously  handsome  as 
the  lady  had  given  him  to  understand.  With  a  sense  of 
shame,  he  caught  up  the  little  mirror  in  his  casket,  and 
could  not  but  allow  to  himself  that  the  features  he  there 
saw  w^ere  symmetrical — the  eyes  azure,  the  com])lexion  of  a 
delicate  fairness,  such  as  he  had  not  seen  equaled,  excej^t 
in  those  splendid  Lorraine  princes;  nor  could  he  judge  of 
the  further  effect  of  his  open-faced  frank  simplicity  and 
sweetness  of  expression — contemptible,  pei'haps,  to  the 
astute,  but  most  winning  to  the  world-weary.  He  shook 
his  head  at  the  fair  retiection,  smiled  as  he  saw  the  color 
rising  at  his  own  sensation  of  being  a  fool,  and  then  threw 
it  aside,  vexed  with  himself  for  being  iniable  not  to  feel  at- 
tracted by  the  first  woman  who  had  shown  herself  struck 
by  his  personal  graces,  and  yet  aware  that  this-was  the  very 
thing  he  had  been  warned  against,  and  determined  to  make 
all  the  resistance  in  his  power  to  a  creature  whose  very 
beauty  and  enchantment  gave  him  a  sense  of  discomfort. 


48  THE    CIIAPLET    OF    PEA.ELS. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

rSE   CONVENT   BIED. 

Youno;  knight,  whatever  that  dost  armes  professe, 
And  through  long  labors  huntest  after  fame, 

iseware  of  fraud,  beware  of  ficklenesse, 
In  choice  and  change  of  thy  beloved  dame. 

Spenser,  Faery  Queene. 

Berengep/s  mind  was  relieved,  even  while  his  vanity 
was  mortified,  when  the  chevalier  and  his  son  came  the 
next  day  to  bring  him  the  formal  letter  requesting  the 
Pope's  annullment  of  his  marriage.  After  he  had  signed 
it,  it  was  to  be  taken  to  Eustacie,  and,  so  soon  as  he  should 
attain  his  twenty-first  year,  he  was  to  dispose  of  Chateau 
Laurre,  as  well  as  of  his  claim  to  the  ancestral  castle  ir. 
Picardy,  to  his  cousin  Narcisse,  and  thus  become  entirely 
free  to  ti-ansfer  his  allegiance  to  the  Queen  of  England. 

It  was  a  very  good  thing — that  he  well  knew;  and  he  had 
a  strong  sense  of  virtue  and  obedience,  as  he  formed  with 
his  pen  the  words  m  all  their  fuUness,  Henri  Eerenger 
Eustache,  Baron  de  Eibaumoiit  et  Seigneur  de  Leurre. 
He  could  not  help  wondering  whether  the  lady  who  looked 
at  him  so  admiringly  really  pi'eferred  such  a  mean-looking 
little  fo]:*  as  Narcisse,  whether  she  were  afraid  of  his  En- 
glish home  and  breeding,  or  wliether  all  this  open  coquetry 
were  leally  the  court  manners  of  ladies  toward  gentlemen, 
and  he  had  been  an  absolute  simpleton  to  be  flattered. 
Any  way,  she  would  have  been  a  most  undesirable  wife, 
and  he  was  well  quit  of  her;  but  he  did  feel  a  certain  lurk- 
ing desire  that,  since  the  bomls  were  cut  and  he  was  no 
longer  in  danger  from  her,  he  might  see  her  again,  carry 
home  a  mental  inventory  of  the  splendid  beauties  he  had 
renounced,  and  decide  what  was  the  motive  that  actuated 
her  in  rejecdng  his  own  handsome  self.  Meantime,  he 
proceeded  to  enjoy  the  amusements  and  advantage  of  his 
sojourn  at  Paris,  of  which  by  no  means  the  least  was  the 
society  of  Philip  Sidney,  and  the  charm  his  brilliant  genius 
imj^arted  to  every  pursuit  they  shared.  Books  at  the 
university,  fencing  and  dancing  from  the  best  professors, 
Italian  poetry,  French  sonnets,  Latin  ejjigrams;   nothing 


THE  CHAPLET  CF  PEARLS.  49 

came  amiss  to  Sidney,  the  flower  of  English  youth:  and 
Berenger  had  taste,  inieUigence,  and  cultivation  enough  to 
enter  into  all  in  which  Sidney  led  the  way.  The  good  tutor, 
after  all  his  miseries  on  the  journey,  was  delighted  to  write 
to  Lord  Walwyn,  that,  far  from  being  a  risk  and  temiita- 
tion,  this  visit  was  a  school  in  all  that  was  virtuous  and 
comely. 

If  the  good  man  had  any  cause  of  dissatisfaction  it  was 
with  the  Calvinistic  tendencies  of  the  embassador's  house- 
hold. Walsingbam  was  always  on  the  l^iritanical  side  of 
Elizabeth's  court,  and  such  an  atmosphere  as  that  of  Paris, 
where  the  Ronum  Catholic  system  was  at  that  time  show- 
ing more  corruption  than  it  has  ever  done  before  or  since 
in  any  other  place,  naturally  threw  him  into  sympathy  with 
the  lieformed.  The  reaction  that  half  a  century  later  filled 
the  Gallican  Church  with  saintliness  had  not  set  in;  her 
ecclesiastics  were  the  tools  of  a  wicked  and  blood-thirsty 
court,  who  hated  virtue  as  much  as  schism  in  the  men 
whom  they  persecuted.  The  Huguenots  were  for  the  most 
part  men  whose  instincts  for  truth  and  virtue  had  recoiled 
from  the  j^opular  system,  and  thus  it  was  indeed  as  if  piety 
and  morality  were  arrayed  on  one  side,  and  su2)erstition 
and  debauchery  on  the  other.  Mr.  Adderley  thus  found  the 
tone  of  the  embassador's  chaplain  that  of  far  more  com- 
plete fellowship  with  the  lleformcd  pastors  than  he  himself 
was  disposed  to  admit.  There  were  a  large  number  of 
these  gathered  at  Paris;  for  the  lull  in  persecution  that 
had  followed  the  battle  of  Moncontour  had  given  hopes  of  a 
final  accommodation  between  the  two  parties,  and  many 
had  come  up  to  consult  with  the  numerous  lay  nobility  who 
had  congregated  to  witness  the  King  of  Navarre's  wedding. 
Among  them,  Berenger  met  his  father's  old  friend,  Isaac 
Garden,  who  had  come  to  Paris  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
his  only  surviving  son  in  marriage  to  the  daughter  of  a 
watch-maker  to  whom  he  had  for  many  years  been  be- 
trothed. By  him  the  youth,  with  his  innocent  face  and 
gracious  respectful  manners,  was  watched  with  delight,  as 
fulfilling  the  fairest  hopes  of  the  poor  baron,  but  the  old 
minister  would  have  been  sorely  disap^jointed  had  he  known 
how  little  Berenger  felt  inclined  toward  his  party. 

The  royal  one  of  coarse  Berenger  could  not  love,  but  the 
rigid  bareness,  and,  as  he  thought,  irreverence  of  the  Cal- 
vinist,  and  the  want  of  all  forms,  jarred  upon  one  used  to 


50  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

a  ritual  which  retained  much  of  the  ancient  form.  In  the 
earlj  years  of  Elizabeth,  every  i^ossible  diversity  prevailed 
in  parish  churches,  according  to  the  predilections  of  rector 
and  squire;  from  forms  scarcely  altered  from  those  of  old 
times,  down  to  the  baldest,  rudest  neglect  of  all  rites;  and 
Berenger,  in  his  country  home,  had  been  used  to  the  first 
extreme.  He  could  not  believe  that  what  he  heard  and 
saw  among  the  8avrmient aires,  as  they  were  called,  was 
what  his  father  had  prized;  and  he  greatly  scandalized  Sid- 
ney, the  pupil  of  Hubert  Languet,  by  openly  expressing  his 
distaste  and  dismay  when  he  found  their  worship  viewed  by 
both  Walsingham  and  Sidney  as  a  model  to  which  the  En- 
glish Protestants  ought  to  be  brought. 

However,  Sidney  excused  all  this  as  mere  boyish  distaste 
to  sermons  and  love  of  externals,  and  Berenger  himself  re- 
flected little  on  the  subject.  Tlie  aspect  of  the  venerable 
Coligny,  his  father's  friend,  did  far  more  toward  making 
him  a  Huguenot  than  any  discussion  of  doctrine.  The 
good  old  admiral  received  him  affectionately,  and  talked  to 
him  warmly  of  his  father,  and  the  grave,  noble  countenance 
and  kind  manner  won  his  heart.  Great  projects  were  on 
foot,  and  were  much  relished  by  the  young  king,  for  rais- 
ing an  army  and  striking  a  blow  at  Spain  by  aiding  the  Re- 
formed in  the  Netherlands;  and  Coligny  was  as  ardent  as  a 
youth  in  the  cause,  hoping  at  once  to  aid  his  brethren,  to 
free  the  young  king  from  evil  influences,  and  to  strike  one 
good  stroke  against  the  old  national  enemy.  He  talked 
eagerly  to  Sidney  of  alliances  with  England,  and  then  la- 
mented over  the  loss  of  so  promising  a  youth  as  young 
Eibaumont  to  the  Reformed  cause  in  France.  If  the  mar- 
riage with  the  heiress  could  have  taken  effect,  he  would 
have  obtained  estates  near  enough  to  some  of  the  main 
Huguenot  strongholds  to  be  very  important,  and  these 
would  now  remain  under  the  power  of  Narcisse  de  Ribau- 
mont,  a  determined  ally  of  the  Guise  faction.  It  was  a 
l^ity,  but  the  admiral  could  not  blame  the  youth  for  obey- 
ing the  wish  of  his  guardian  grandfather;  and  he  owned, 
with  a  sigh,  that  England  was  a  more  peaceful  land  than 
his  own  beloved  country.  Berenger  was  a  little  nettled  at 
this  implication,  and  began  to  talk  of  joining  the  French 
standard  in  a  campaign  in  the  Netherlands,  but  when  the 
two  young  men  returned  to  their  present  home  and  described 
the  conversation,  Walsingham  said: 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  51 

**  The  admiral's  favorite  project!  He  would  do  wisely 
not  to  brag  of  it  so  ojienly.  The  King  of  Spain  has  too 
many  in  his  interest  in  this  place  not  to  l)e  warned,  and  to 
be  thus  further  egged  on  to  conij^ass  the  ruin  of  Coligny." 

"I  should  have  thought/' said  Sidney,  "that  nothing 
could  add  to  his  hatred  of  the  Keformed. "' 

"  Scarcely, '^  said  Walsingham;  "  save  that  it  is  they 
who  hinder  the  Duke  of  Guise  from  being  a  good  French- 
man, and  a  foe  to  Spain." 

Politics  had  not  developed  themselves  in  Berenger's 
mind,  and  he  listened  inattentively  while  Walsingham 
talked  over  with  Sidney  the  state  of  parties  in  France  where 
natural  national  enmity  to  Spain  was  balanced  by  the  need 
felt  by  the  queen-mother  of  tlie  support  of  that  great  Ivo- 
man  Catholic  power  against  the  Huguenots;  whom  Wal- 
singham believed  her  to  dread  and  hate  less  for  their  own 
sake  than  from  the  fear  of  loss  of  influence  over  her  son. 
He  believed  Charles  IX.  himself  to  have  much  leaning 
toward  the  Reformed,  but  the  late  victories  had  thrown  the 
whole  court  entirely  into  the  power  of  the  Guises,  the  truly 
unscrupulous  partisans  of  Eome.  They  were  further  in- 
flamed against  the  Huguenots  by  the  assassination  of  the 
last  Duke  of  Guise,  and  by  the  violences  that  had  been 
committed  by  some  of  the  Keformed  party,  in  especial  a 
massacre  of  prisoners  at  Nerac. 

Sidney  exclaimed  that  the  Huguenots  had  suffered  far 
worse  cruelties. 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Sir  Francis,  "  but  my  young 
friend,  you  will  find,  in  all  matters  of  reprisals,  that  a  pai'ty 
has  no  memory  for  what  it  may  commit,  only  for  what  it 
may  receive." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  an  invitation  to  the 
embassador's  family  and  guests  to  a  tilting-match  and  sub- 
sequent ball  at  the  Louvre.  In  the  first  Berenger  did  his 
part  with  credit;  to  the  second  he  went  feeling  full  of  that 
strange  attraction  of  repulsion.  He  knew  gentlemen 
enough  in  Coligny's  suite  for  it  to  be  likely  that  he  might 
remain  unperceived  among  them,  and  he  knew  this  woidd 
be  prudent,  but  lie  found  himself  unexpectedly  near  the 
ranks  of  ladies,  and  smile  and  gesture  absolutely  drew  him 
toward  his  semi-spouse,  so  that  he  had  no  alternative  but 
to  lead  her  out  to  dance. 

The  stately  measure  was  trod  in  silence  as  usual,  but  he 


52  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

felt  the  dark  eyes  studying  him  all  the  time.  However,  he 
could  bear  it  better  now  that  the  deed  was  done,  and  she 
Lad  voluntarily  made  him  less  to  her  than  any  gallant 
parading  or  mincing  about  the  room." 

"  So  you  bear  the  pearls,  sir?"  she  'said,  as  the  dance 
finished, 

"  The  only  heir-loom  I  shall  take  with  me,"  he  said, 

^'  Is  a  look  at  them  too  great  a  favor  to  ask  from  their 
jealous  guardian?"  she  asked. 

lie  smiled,  half  ashamed  of  his  own  annoyance  at  being 
obliged  to  place  them  in  her  hands.  He  was  sure  she  would 
try  to  cajole  him  out  of  them,  and  by  way  of  asserting  his 
property  in  them  he  did  not  detach  them  from  the  band  of 
liis  black  velvet  cap,  but  gav5  it  with  them  into  her  hand. 
She  looked  at  each  one,  and  counted  them  wistfully. 

"Seventeen!"  she  said;  "and  how  beautiful!  I  never 
saw  them  so  near  before.  They  are  so  becoming  to  that  fair 
cheek  that  I  sujipose  no  offer  from  my — my  uncle,  on  our 
behalf,  would  induce  you  to  jiart  with  them?" 

An  impulse  of  open-handed  gallantry  would  have  made 
him  answer,  "  No  offer  from  your  uncle,  but  a  simple  re- 
quest from  you;"  but  he  thought  in  time  of  the  absurdity 
of  returning  without  them,  and  merely  answered,  "  I  have 
no  right  to  yield  them,  fair  lady.  They  are  the  witness  to 
my  forefather's  fame  and  jDrowess. " 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  to  those  of  mine  also,"  she  replied. 
*'  And  you  would  take  them  over  to  the  enemy  from  whom 
thaL  prowess  extorted  them?" 

"  The  country  which  honored  and  rewarded  that 
prowess!"  reiDlied  Berenger. 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  interrogative  glance  of  sur- 
prise at  the  readiness  of  his  answer;  then,  with  half  a  sigh, 
said,  "  There  are  your  pearls,  sir;  I  can  not  establish  our 
right,  though  I  verily  believe  it  was  the  cause  of  our  last 
quarrel;"  and  she  smiled  archly. 

"  I  believe  it  was,"  he  said,  gravely;  but  added,  in  the 
moment  of  relief  at  recovering  the  precious  heir-loom, 
"  though  it  was  Diane  who  inspired  you  to  seize  upon 
them." 

"  Ah!  poor  Diane!  you  sometimes  recollect  her  then?  If 
I  remember  right,  you  used  to  agree  with  her  better  than 
with  your  little  spouse,  cousin!" 

' '  If  I  quarreled  with  her  Iess»  I  liked  her  less, "  answered 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  53 

Berengcr — who,  since  the  act  of  separation,  had  not  been 
BO  guarded  in  his  demeanor,  and  began  to  give  way  to  hid 
natural  frankness. 

"  Indeed!  Diane  would  be  less  gratified  than  I  ought  to 
be.     And  why,  may  I  ask?'^ 

"  Diane  was  more  caressing,  but  she  had  no  truth." 

"  Truth!  that  was  vfliatfeu  Monsieur  le  Baron  ever  talk- 
ed of;  what  Huguenots  weary  one  with.'' 

"  And  the  only  thing  worth  seeking,  the  real  pearl/* 
said  Berenger,  "  without  which  all  else  is  worthless." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "  who  would  have  thought  that  soft, 
youthful  face  could  be  so  severe!  You  would  never  forgive 
a  deceit?" 

"Never,"  he  said,  with  the  crystal  hardness  of  youth; 
"  or  rather  I  might  forgive;  I  could  never  esteem." 

' '  What  a  bare,  rude  world  yours  must  be,"  she  said, 
shivering.  "And  no  weak  ones  in  it!  Only  the  strong 
can  dare  to  be  true. " 

"  Truth  is  strength!"  said  Berenger.  "For  example:  I 
see  yonder  a  face  without  bodily  strength,  perhaps,  but 
with  perfect  candor." 

"Ah!  some  Huguenot  girl  of  Madame  Catherine's,  no 
doubt — from  the  dei^ths  of  Languedoc,  and  dressed  like  a 
fright." 

"  No,  no;  the  young  girl  behind  the  pale,  yellow-haired 
lady. " 

"  Comme7it,  monsieur.  Do  you  not  yet  know  the  young 
queen?" 

"  But  who  is  the  3'oung  demoiselle — she  with  the  superb 
black  eyes,  and  the  ruby  rose  in  her  black  hair?" 

"  Take  care,  sir,  do  you  not  know  I  have  still  a  right  to 
be  jealous?"  she  said,  blushing,  bridling,  and  laughing. 

But  this  pull  on  the  cords  made  him  the  more  resolved; 
he  would  not  be  turned  from  his  purpose.  "  Who  is  she?" 
he  repeated,  "  have  I  ever  seen  her  before?  I  am  sure  I 
remember  that  innocent  look  of  cspieglerie." 

"  You  may  see  it  on  any  child 's  face  fresh  out  of  the  con- 
vent; it  does  not  last  a  month!"  was  the  still  displeased, 
rather  jealous  answer.  "  That  little  thing — I  believe  they 
call  her  Nid-de-Merle — she  has  oidy  just  been  brought  from 
her  nunnery  to  wait  on  the  young  queen.  Ah!  your  gaze 
was  perilous,  it  is  bringing  on  you  one  of  the  jests  of  Ma- 
dame Marguerite. '' 


54  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"With  laughter  aud  gayctj;,  a  trooj)  of  gentlemen  de- 
scended on  M.  de  Ribaiiniont,  and  told  him  that  Madame 
Marguerite  desired  that  he  should  be  presented  to  her.  The 
princess  was  standing  by  her  pale  sister-in-law,  Elizabeth 
of  Austria,,  who  looked  grave  and  annoyed  at  the  mis- 
chievous mirth  flashing  in  Marguerite's  dark  eyes. 

"  M.  de  Ribaumont/^  said  the  latter,  her  very  neck  heav- 
ing with  sup23ressed  fun,  "  I  see  I  can  not  do  you  a  greater 
favor  than  by  giving  you  Mademoiselle  de  Nid-de-Merle  for 
your  partner. ' ' 

Berenger  was  covered  with  confusion  to  find  that  he  had 
been  guilty  of  such  a  fixed  stare  as  to  bring  all  this  upon 
the  poor  girl.  He  feared  that  his  vague  sense  of  recogni- 
tion had  made  his  gaze  more  open  tban  he  knew,  and  he 
was  really  and  deeply  ashamed  of  this  as  his  worst  act  of 
provincial  ill-breeding. 

Poor  little  convent  maid,  with  crimson  cheeks,  flashing 
eyes,  panting  bosom,  and  a  neck  evidently  aching  with 
proud  dignity  and  passion,  she  received  his  low  bow  with  a 
sweeping  courtesy,  as  lofty  as  her  little  person  would  ])er- 
mit. 

His  cheeks  burned  like  fire,  and  he  would  have  found 
words  to  apologize,  but  she  cut  him  short  by  saying,  has- 
tily and  low,  "  Not  a  word,  monsieur!  Let  us  go  through 
it  at  once.     No  on,e  shall  make  game  of  us." 

He  hardly  durst  look  at  her  again;  but  as  he  went 
through  his  own  elaborate  paces  he  knew  that  the  little 
creature  opposite  was  swimming,  bending,  turning,  bound- 
ing with  the  fluttering  fierceness  of  an  angry  little  biitl, 
and  that  the  superb  eyes  were  casting  flashes  on  him  that 
seemed  to  carry  him  back  to  days  of  early  boyhood. 

Once  he  caught  a  mortified,  pleading,  wistful  glance  that 
made  him  feel  as  if  he  had  inflicted  a  cruel  injury  by  his 
thoughtless  gaze,  and  he  resolved  to  plead  the  sense  of  rec- 
ognition in  excuse;  but  no  sooner  was  the  performance  over 
than  she  prevented  all  conversation  by  saying,  "  Lead  me 
back  at  once  to  the  queen,  sir;  she  is  about  to  retire. " 
They  were  already  so  near  that  there  Avas  not  time  to  say 
anything;  he  could  only  hold  as  lightly  as  possible  the  tiny 
fingers  that  he  felt  burning  and  quivering  in  his  hand, 
then,  after  bringing  lier  to  the  side  of  the  chair  of  state,  he 
was  forced  to  release  her  with  the  mere  whisper  of  "  I*ur- 


THE    CIIAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  55 

don,  mademoiselle;"  and  the  request  was  not  replied  to, 
save  by  the  additional  statelincss  of  her  courtesy. 

It  was  already  late,  and  the  party  was  breaking  uji;  but 
his  heiRl  and  heart  were  still  in  a  whirl  when  he  found  him- 
self seated  in  the  embassadorial  coach,  hearing  Lady  AA'al- 
singham's  well-pleased  rehearsal  of  all  the  compliments 
she  had  received  on  the  distinguished  appearance  of  both 
her  young  guests.  Sidney,  as  the  betrothed  of  her  daugh- 
ter, w\as  projierty  of  her  own;  but  she  also  exulted  in  the 
praises  of  the  young  Lord  de  Eibaumont,  as  jiroving  the 
excellence  of  the  masters  whom  she  had  recommended  to 
remove  the  rustic  clownishnet-s  of  which  he  had  been  ac- 
cused. 

"Nay,"  said  Sir  Francis;  "whoever  called  him  too 
clownish  for  court  spake  with  design.'' 

The  brief  sentence  added  to  Berenger's  confused  sense  of 
being  in  a  mist  of  false  play.  Could  his  kinsman  be  bent 
on  keephig  him  from  court?  Could  Narcisse  be  jealous  of 
him?  Mademoiselle  de  Ribaumont  was  evidently  hiclined 
to  seek  him,  and  her  cousin  might  easily  think  her  lands 
safer  in  his  absence.  He  would  have  been  willing  to  hold 
aloof  as  much  as  his  uncle  and  cousin  could  wish,  save  for  an 
angry  dislike  to  being  duped  and  cajoled;  and,  moreover,  a 
strong  curiosity  to  hear  and  see  more  of  that  little  passion- 
ate bird,  fresh  from  the  convent  cage.  Her  gesture  and 
her  eyes  irresistibly  carried  him  back  to  old  times,  though 
whether  to  an  angry  blackbird  in  the  yew-tree  alleys  at 
Leurre,  or  to  the  eager  face  that  had  warned  him  to  save  his 
father,  he  could  not  remember  with  any  distinctness.  At 
any  rate,  he  was  surprised  to  find  himself  thinking  so  little 
in  comparison  about  the  sjDlendid  beauty  and  winning  man- 
ners of  his  discarded  spouse,  though  he  quite  believed  that, 
now  her  captive  was  beyond  her  grasp,  she  was  disposed  to 
catch  at  him  again,  and  try  to  retain  him,  or,  as  his  titil- 
lated vanity  might  whisper,  his  personal  graces  might  make 
her  regret  the  family  resolution  which  she  had  obeyed. 


56  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 


CHAPTER  \L 

FOULLY   COZENED. 
I  was  the  more  deceived. — Ilamlet. 

The  unhappy  Charles  IX.  had  a  disposition  that  in  good 
hands  might  have  achieved  great  nobleness;  and  though 
cruelly  bound  and  trained  to  evil,  was  no  sooner  allowed  to 
follow  its  natural  bent  than  it  reached  out  eagerly  toward 
excellence.  At  this  moment,  it  was  his  mother ^s  policy  to 
apjiear  to  leave  the  ascendency  to  the  Huguenot  ^ni'tj,  and 
ho  was  therefore  allowed  to  contract  friendships  which  de- 
ceived the  intended  victims  the  more  completely,  because 
his  admiration  and  attachment  were  spontaneous  and  sin- 
cere. Philip  Sidney's  varied  accomplishments  and  pure 
lofty  character  greatly  attracted  the  young  king,  who  had 
leaned  on  liis  arm  conversing  during  a  great  jjart  of  the 
ball,  and  the  next  morning  sent  a  royal  messenger  to  in- 
vito the  two  young  gentlemen  to  a  party  at  pall-mall  in  the 
Tuiieries  gardens. 

Pall-mall  was  either  croquet  or  its  nearest  relative,  and 
was  so  much  the  fashion  that  games  were  given  in  order  to 
keep  up  political  influence,  perha^os,  because  the  freedom 
of  a  garden  2Ja.stime  among  groves  and  bowers  afforded  op- 
j'ortunities  for  those  seductive  arts  on  which  Queen  Cather- 
ine placed  so  much  dependence.  The  formal  gardens, 
with  their  squares  of  level  turf  and  clipped  alleys,  afforded 
excellent  scojie  both  for  players  and  spectators,  and  numer- 
ous games  had  been  set  on  foot,  from  all  of  which,  how- 
ever, Berenger  contrived  to  exclude  himself,  in  his  restless 
determination  to  find  out  the  little  Demoiselle  do  Nid-de- 
Merlo,  or,  at  least,  to  discover  whether  any  intercourse  in 
early  youth  accounted  for  his  undefined  sense  of  remem- 
brance. 

He  interrogated  the  first  disengaged  person  he  could  find, 
but  it  was  only  the  young  Abbe  do  Mericour  who  had  been 
newly  brought  up  fi'om  Dauphine  by  his  elder  brother  to 
solicit  a  benefice,  and  who  knew  nobody.  To  him,  ladies 
were  only  bright  phantoms  such  as  his  books  had  taught 
^nm  to  regard   like  the  temptations  of  St.  Anthony,  but 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  57 

whom  he  actually  saw  treated  with  as  free  admiration  by 
the  ecclesiastic  as  by  the  layman. 

Suddenly  a  clamor  of  voices  arose  on  the  other  side  of 
the  closely  clipped  wall  of  limes  by  wliich  the  two  youths 
were  walking.  There  were  the  clear  tones  of  a  young 
maiden  expostulating  in  indignant  distress,  and  the  ban- 
tering, indolent  determination  of  a  male  annoyer. 

"  Hark!"  exclaimed  Berenger;  "  this  must  be  seen  to.  ^' 

"  Have  a  care,"  returned  Mericour;  "  I  have  heard  that 
a  man  needs  look  twice  ere  meddling." 

Scarcely  hearing,  Berenger  strode  on  as  he  had  done  at 
the  last  village  wake,  when  he  had  rescued  Cis  of  the  Down 
from  the  impertinence  of  a  Dorchester  scrivener.  It  was  a 
like  case,  he  saw,  when  bi-eaking  through  the  arch  of  clipped 
limes  he  beheld  the  little  Demoiselle  de  Nid-de-Merle, 
driven  into  a  corner  and  standing  at  bay,  with  glowing 
cheeks,  Hashing  eyes,  and  hands  clasped  over  her  breast, 
while  a  young  man,  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  foppery,  was 
assuring  her  that  she  was  the  only  lady  who  had  not  grant- 
ed him  a  token — that  he  could  not  allow  such  poisioniKiire 
airs,  and  that  now  he  had  caught  her  he  would  have  his  re- 
venge, and  win  her  rose-colored  breastknot.  Another  gen- 
tleman stood  by,  langhing,  and  keeping  guard  in  the  walk 
that  led  to  the  more  frequented  part  of  the  gardens. 

"  Hold!''  thundered  Berenger. 

The  assailant  had  just  mastered  the  poor  girl's  hand,  but 
she  took  advantage  of  his  surj^rise  to  wrench  it  away  and 
gather  herself  up  as  for  a  spring,  but  the  abbe  in  dismay, 
the  attendant  in  anger,  cried  out,  "  Stay — it  is  monsieur." 

"  Monsieur;  be  he  who  he  may,'^  exclaimed  Berenger, 
"  no  honest  man  can  see  a  lady  hisulted.'^ 

"  Are  you  mad?  It  is  Monsieur  the  Duke  of  Anjou," 
said  Mericour,  pouncing  on  his  arm. 

"  Shall  we  have  him  to  the  guard-house?'^  added  the  at- 
tendant, coming  up  on  the  other  side;  but  Henri  de  Va- 
lois  waved  them  both  back,  and  burst  into  a  derisive  laugh. 
**  No,  no;  do  you  not  see  who  it  is?  Monsieur  the  English 
Baron  still  holds  the  end  of  the  halter.  His  sale  is  not  yet 
made.  Come  away,  D'O,  he  will  soon  have  enough  on  his 
hands  without  us.  Farewell,  fair  lady,  another  time  you 
will  be  free  of  your  jealous  giant. " 

So  saying,  the 'Duke  of  Anjou  strolled  off  feignhig  in- 
difference and  contempt,  and  scarcely  heeding  tliat  he  had 


58  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

been  traversed  in  one  of  the  malicious  adventures  which  he 
deliglited  to  recount  in  2)ublic  before  the  discomfited  vic- 
tim herself,  often  with  shameful  exaggeration. 

The  girl  clasped  her  hands  over  her  brow  with  a  gesture 
of  dismay,  and  cried,  '*  OhI  if  you  have  only  not  touched 
your  sword. " 

"  Let  me  have  the  honor  of  reconducting  you,  mademoi- 
selle/' said  Berenger,  offering  his  hand;  but  after  the  first 
sigh  of  relief,  a  tempestuous  access  seized  her.  She 
seemed  about  to  dash  awuy  his  hand,  her  bosom  swelled 
with  resentment,  and  with  a  voice  striving  for  dignity, 
though  choked  with  strangled  tears,  she  exclaimed,  "  No, 
indeed!  Had  iiot  Monsieur  le  Baron  forsaken  me,  I  had 
never  been  thus  treated!"  and  her  eyes  flashed  through 
their  moisture. 

"  Eustacie!     You  are  Eustacie!" 

"  Whom  would  you  have  me  to  be  otherwise?  I  have 
the  honor  to  wish  Monsieur  le  Baron  a  good-morning." 

"  Eustacie!  Stay!  Hear  me!  It  concerns  my  honor. 
I  see  it  is  you — but  whom  have  I  seen?  Who  was  she?" 
lie  cried,  half  wild  with  dismay  and  confusion.  "  Was  it 
Diane?" 

"  You  have  seen  and  danced  with  Diane  de  Ribaumont," 
answered  Eustacie,  still  coldly;  "but  what  of  that?  Let 
me  go,  monsieur;  you  have  cast  me  off  already." 

"  I!  wlien  all  this  has  been  of  your  own  seeking?" 

"  Mine?"  cried  Eustacie,  panting  with  the  struggle  be- 
tween her  dignity  and  her  passionate  tears.  "  I  meddled 
not.  I  heard  that  Monsieur  le  Baron  was  gone  to  a  strange 
land,  and  had  written  to  break  off'  old  ties."  Her  face  was 
in  a  flame,  and  her  efl'orts  for  composure  absolute  pain. 

"  I!"  again  exclaimed  Berenger.  "  The  first  letter 
came  from  your  uncle,  declaring  that  it  was  your  wish!" 
And  as  her  face  changed  rapidly,  "  Then  it  was  not  true! 
He  has  not  had  your  consent?" 

"  What!  would  I  hold  to  one  who  despised  me— who 
came  here  and  never  even  asked  to  see  this  hated  spouse!" 

"I  did!  I  entreated  to  see  you.  I  would  not  sign  the 
application  till —  Oh,  there  has  been  treachery!  And 
have  they  made  you  too  sign  it?" 

"  When  they  showed  me  your  name  they  were  welcome 
to  mine." 

Berenger  struck  his  forehead  with  wrath  and  perplexity, 


THE    CBAPLET    OF    PEAEL8.  59 

then  cried,  joyfully,  "  It  will  not  stand  for  a  moment.  So 
fonl  a  cheat  can  be  at  once  exposed.  Eustacie,  you  know 
— ^yon  understand,  that  it  was  not  you  but  Diane  whom  I 
saw  and  detested;  and  no  wonder,  when  she  was  acting 
such  a  cruel  treason!" 

"  Oh,  no,  Diane  would  never  so  treat  me,^'  cried  Eus- 
tacie. "I  see  how  it  was!  You  did  not  know  that  my  fa- 
ther was  latterly  called  Marquis  de  Nid-de-Merle,  and  when 
they  brought  me  here,  they  would  call  me  after  him;  they 
said  a  maid-of-honor  must  be  demoiselle,  and  my  uncle 
said  there  was  only  one  way  in  which  I  could  remain  Ma- 
dame de  Ivibaumont!  And  the  name  must  have  deceived 
you.  Thou  wast  alwa3\s  a  great  dull  boy,"  she  added,  with 
a  sudden  assumption  of  childish  intimacy  that  annihilated 
tlie  nine  years  since  their  parting. 

"  Had  I  seen  thee,  I  had  not  mistaken  for  an  instant. 
This  little  face  stirred  my  heart;  hers  repelled  me.  And 
she  deceived  me  wittingly,  Eustacie,  for  1  asked  after  her 
by  name. " 

"  Ah,  she  wished  to  spare  my  embarrassment.  And  then 
her  brother  must  have  dealt  with  her.  ■" 

"  I  see,"  exclaimed  Berenger,  "  I  am  to  be  palmed  off 
thus  that  thou  mayest  be  reserved  for  Narcisse.  Tell  me, 
Eustacie,  wast  thou  willing?'^ 

"  I  hate  Narcisse!''  she  cried.  "  But,  oh,  I  am  linger- 
ing too  long.  Monsieur  will  make  some  hateful  tale!  I 
never  fell  into  his  vvay  before,  my  queen  and  Madame  la 
Comtesse  are  so  careful.  Only  to-day,  as  I  was  attending 
her  alone,  the  king  came  and  gave  her  his  arm,  and  I  had 
to  drop  behind.  I  must  find  her;  I  shall  be  missed,"  she 
added,  in  sudden  alarm.     "  Oh,  what  will  they  say?" 

"  No  blame  for  being  with  thy  husband,"  he  answered, 
clasping  her  hand.  "  Thou  art  mine  henceforth.  I  will 
Boon  cut  our  way  out  of  the  web  thy  treacherous  kindred 
have  woven.     Meantime — " 

"Hush!  There  are  voices,"  cried  Eustacie  in  terror, 
and,  guided  by  something  he  could  not  discern,  she  fled 
with  the  swiftness  of  a  bird  down  the  alley.  Following, 
with  the  utmost  si^eed  that  might  not  bear  the  appearance 
of  pursuit,  he  found  that  on  coming  to  the  turn  she  hai^ 
moderated  her  pace,  and  was  more  tranquilly  advancing  to 
a  bevy  of  ladies,  who  sat  perched  on  the  stone  steps  like 


60  tHE    CilAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

great  butterflies  sunning  themselves,  watching  the  game, 
and  receiving  the  attentions  of  their  cavahers.  He  saw  her 
absorbed  into  the  group,  and  then  began  to  prowl  round  it, 
in  the  alleys,  in  a  tumult  of  amazement  and  indignation. 
He  had  been  shamefully  deceived  and  cheated,  and  justice 
he  would  have!  He  had  been  deprived  of  a  thing  of  his 
own,  and  he  would  assert  his  right.  He  had  been  made  to 
injure  and  disown  the  creature  he  was  bound  to  protect, 
and  he  must  console  her  and  comi^ensate  to  her,  were  it 
only  to  redeem  his  honor.  He  never  even  thought  whether 
he  loved  her;  he  merely  felt  furious  at  the  wrong  he  had 
suffered  and  been  made  to  commit,  and  hotly  bent  on  re- 
covering what  belonged  to  him.  He  might  even  have 
j)lunged  down  among  the  ladies  and  claimed  her  as  his 
wife,  if  the  youiig  Abbe  de  Meiicour,  who  was  two  years 
older  than  he,  and  far  less  of  a  boy  for  his  years,  had  not 
joined  him  in  his  agitated  walk.  He  then  learned  that  all 
tiie  court  knew  that  the  daughter  of  the  late  Marquis  de 
]SIid-de-Merle,  Comte  de  Eibaumont,  was  called  by  his  chief 
title,  but  that  her  marriage  to  himself  had  been  forgotten 
by  some  and  unknown  to  others,  and  thus  that  the  first 
error  between  the  cousins  hud  not  been  wonderful  in  a 
stranger,  since  the  chevalier's  daughter  had  always  been 
Mile,  de  Eibaumont.  The  error  once  made,  Berenger's 
distaste  to  Diane  had  been  so  convenient  that  it  had  been 
carefully  encouraged,  and  the  desire  to  keep  him  at  a  dis- 
tance from  court  and  throw  him  into  the  background  was 
accounted  for.  The  abbe  was  almost  as  indignant  as  Be- 
renger,  and  assured  him  both  of  his  sympathy  and  his  dis- 
cretion. 

"  I  see  no  need  for  discretion,^  ^  said  Berenger.  "  I  shall 
claim  my  wife  in  the  face  of  the  sun.'' 

"  Take  counsel  first,  I  entreat,"  exclaimed  Mericour. 
"  The  Ribaumonts  have  much  influence  with  the  Guise 
family,  and  now  you  have  offended  monsieur." 

"  Ah!  where  are  those  traitorous  kinsmen.^"  cried  Be- 
renger. 

"  Fortunately  all  are  gone  on  an  expedition  with  the 
queen-mother.  You  will  have  time  to  think.  I  have  heard 
my  brother  say  no  one  ever  jjrospered  who  offended  the 
meanest  follower  of  the  house  of  Lorraine. " 

"  I  do  not  want  prosperity,  I  only  want  my  wife.  I  hope 
1  shall  iieTer  see  Paris  and  its  deceivers  again. '^ 


THE    CJIArLET    OF    PEARLS.  61 

"  Ah!  but  is  it  true  that  yon  liavu  apjihcd  to  have  tho 
marriage  annulled  atliome?" 

"  We  were  both  shamefully  deceived.  That  can  be 
nothing." 

*'  A  decree  of  his  Holiness;  you  a  Huguenot;  she  an  heir- 
ess! All  is  against  you.  My  friend,  be  cautious/'  ex- 
claimed the  young  ecclesiastic,  alarmed  by  his  ])assionate 
gestures.  "  To  break  forth  now  and  be  accused  of  brawl- 
ing in  the  palace  precincts  would  be  fatal — fatal — most 
fatal!" 

"lam  as  calm  as  2:)0ssible/ '  returned  15erenger.  "I 
mean  to  act  most  reasonably.  I  shall  stand  before  the  king 
and  tell  him  openly  how  1  have  been  tampered  with,  de- 
manding my  wife  before  the  whole  court.'' 

"  Long  before  you  could  get  so  far  the  ushers  would  have 
dragged  you  away  for  brawling,  or  for  maligning  an  honor- 
able gentleman.  You  would  have  to  finish  your  speech  in 
the  Bastille,  and  it  would  be  well  if  even  your  English  friends 
could  get  you  out  alive." 

''  Why,  what  a  j^lace  is  this!"  began  Berenger;  but 
again  Mericour  entreated  him  to  curb  himself;  and  his 
English  education  had  taught  him  to  credit  the  house  of 
Guise  with  so  much  mysterious  j^ower  and  wickedness,  that 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  silenced,  and  j)romised  to  take  no 
open  measure  till  he  had  consulted  the  embassador. 

He  could  not  obtain  another  glimpse  of  Eustacie,  and 
the  hours  passed  tardily  till  the  break  up  of  the  party. 
Charles  could  scarcely  release  Sidney  from  his  side,  and 
only  let  him  go  on  condition  that  he  should  johi  the  next 
day  in  an  expedition  to  the  hunting-chateau  of  Montpipeau, 
to  which  the  king  seemed  to  look  forward  as  a  great  holi- 
day and  breathing  time. 

When  at  length  the  two  youths  did  return,  Sir  Francis 
W^alsingham  was  completely  surprised  by  the  usually  tract- 
able, well-behaved  stripling,  whose  praises  he  had  been 
writing  to  his  old  friend,  bursting  in  on  him  with  the  out- 
cry, "  Sir,  sir,  I  entreat  your  counsel!  I  have  been  foully 
cozened." 

"  Of  how  much?"  said  Sir  Francis,  in  a  tone  of  reproba- 
tion. 

"  Of  my  wife.  Of  ndne  honor.  Sir,  your  excellency,  1 
crave  pardon,  if  I  spoke  too  hotly,' '  said  Jku-enger,  collect- 
ing himself;  "  but  it  is  enough  to  drive  a  man  to  frenzy.  " 


62  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  Sit  down,  my  Lord  de  Eibaumont.  Take  breath,  and 
let  me  know  what  is  this  coil.  What  hath  thus  moved  him, 
Mr.  Sidney?'' 

"  It  is  as  he  says,  sir,''  replied  Sidney,  who  had  heard 
all  as  they  returned;  "  he  has  been  greatly  wronged.  The 
Chevalier  de  Eibaumont  not  only  writ  to  propose  the  sepa- 
ration without  the  lady's  knowledge,  but  imposed  his  own 
daughter  on  our  friend  as  the  wife  he  had  not  seen  since 
infancy." 

"  There,  sir,"  broke  forth  Berenger;  "  surely  if  I  claim 
mine  own  in  the  face  of  day,  no  man  can  withhold  her 
from  me!" 

*'Hold!"  said  Sir  Francis.  "  What  means  this  passion, 
young  sir?  Methought  you  came  hither  convinced  that 
both  the  religion  and  the  habits  in  which  the  young  lady 
had  been  bred  up  rendered  your  infantine  contract  most 
misuitable.  What  hath  fallen  out  to  make  this  change  in 
your  mind?" 

"  That  I  was  cheated,  sir.  The  lady  who  palmed  herself 
of:  on  me  as  my  wife  was  a  mere  impostor,  the  chevalier's 
own  daughter  I" 

"  That  may  be;  but  what  know  you  of  this  other  lady? 
Has  she  been  bred  up  in  faith  or  manners  such  as  your  par- 
ents would  have  your  wife?" 

"  She  is  my  wife,"  reiterated  Berenger.  "  My  faith  is 
plighted  to  her.     That  is  enough  for  me. " 

Sir  Francis  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  "  He  has  seen 
her,  I  su^ipose,"  said  he  to  Sidney. 

"  Yes,  truly,  sir,"  answered  Berenger;  "  and  found  that 
she  had  been  as  greatly  deceived  as  myself. " 

"  Then  mutual  consent  is  wanting,"  said  the  statesman, 
gravely  musing. 

"  That  is  even  as  I  say,"  began  Berenger,  but  Walsing- 
ham  held  up  his  hand,  and  desired  that  he  would  make 
his  full  statement  in  the  presence  of  his  tutor.  Tlien  sound- 
ing a  little  whistle,  the  embassador  dispatched  a  page  to 
request  the  attendance  of  Mr.  Adderley,  and  recommended 
young  Eibaumont  in  the  meantime  to  compcse  himself. 

Used  to  beingunder  authority  as  Berenger  was,  the  some- 
what severe  tone  did  much  to  allay  his  excitement  and  re- 
mind him  that  right  and  reason  were  so  entirely  on  his 
side,  that  he  had  only  to  be  cool  and  rational  to  make  them 
prevail.     He  was  thus  able  to  give  a  collected  and  coherent 


THE    CHAPl.ET    OF    PEAKLS.  63 

account  of  liis  discovery  that  tlic  part  of  liis  wife  had  been 
assumed  by  her  cousin  Diane,  and  that  the  signature  of 
both  the  young  pair  to  the  appHcation  to  the  Pope  had 
been  obtained  on  false  pretenses.  That  he  had,  as  Sidney 
said,  been  foully  cozened,  in  both  senses  of  the  word,  was  as 
clear  as  daylight;  but  he  was  much  angered  and  disap- 
pointed to  fincl  that  neither  the  embassador  nor  his  tutor 
could  see  that  Eustacie's  worthiness  was  proved  by  the  in- 
iquity of  her  relations,  or  that  any  one  of  the  weighty  rea- 
sons for  the  expediency  of  dissolving  the  marriage  was  re- 
moved. The  whole  affair  had  been  in  such  good  train  a 
little  before,  that  Mr.  Adderley  was  much  distressed  that 
it  should  thus  have  been  crossed,  and  thought  the  new 
phase  of  affairs  would  be  far  from  from  acceptable  at  Combe 
Walwyn. 

"  Whatever  is  just  and  honorable  must  be  acceptable  to 
my  grandfather,"  said  Berenger. 

"  Even  so,"  said  Walsingham;  "  but  it  were  well  to 
consider  whether  justice  and  honor  require  you  to  overthrow 
the  2)urpose  wherewith  he  sent  3^ou  hither." 

"  Surely,  sir,  justice  and  honor  require  me  to  fulfill  a 
contract  to  wliicli  the  otlier  party  is  constant,"  said  Be- 
renger, feeling  very  wise  and  prudent  for  calling  that  wist- 
ful mdignant  creature  the  other  party. 

"  That  is  also  true,"  said  the  embassador,  "  provided 
she  be  constant;  but  you  own  that  she  signed  the  requisi- 
tion for  the  dissolution. " 

"  She  did  so,  but  under  the  same  deception  as  myself, 
and  further  mortified  and  aggrieved  at  my  seeming  faith- 
lessness." 

"  So  it  may  easily  be  represented,"  muttered  Walsing- 
ham. 

"How,  sir?'^  cried  Berenger,  impetuously:  "do  you 
doubt  her  truth?" 

"  Heaven  forefend,"  said  Sir  Francis,  "  that  I  should 
discuss  any  fair  lady's  sincerity!  The  question  is  how  far 
you  are  bound.  Have  I  understood  you  that  you  are 
veritably  wedded,  not  by  a  mere  contract  of  espousal?" 

Berenger  could  produce  no  documents,  for  they  had  been 
left  at  Chateau  Leurre,  and  on  his  father's  death  the 
chevalier  had  claimed  the  custody  of  them;  but  he  remem- 
bered enough  of  the  ceremonial  to  prove  that  the  wedding 


64         -  THE    CHA^LET    OF    PEARLS. 

had  been  a  veritable  one,  and  that  only  the  Papal  interven- 
tion could  annul  it. 

Indeed  an  Englishman,  going  by  English  law,  would  own 
no  power  in  the  Poj^e,  nor  any  one  on  earth,  to  sever  the 
sacred  tie  of  wedlock;  but  French  courts  of  law  would 
probably  ignore  the  mode  of  application,  and  would  certain- 
ly endeavor  to  separate  between  a  Catholic  and  a  heretic. 

"  I  am  English,  sir,  in  heart  and  faith,"  said  Berenger, 
earnestly.  "  Look  upon  me  as  such,  and  tell  me,  am  I- 
married  or  single  at  this  moment?" 

"  Married  assuredly.     More's  the  pity,"  said  Sir  Francis. 

"  And  no  law  of  God  or  man  divides  us  without  our  own 
consent."  There  was  no  denying  that  the  mutual  consent 
of  the  young  j)air  at  their  jjresent  age  was  all  that  was 
wanting  to  complete  the  inviolabihty  of  their  marriage  con- 
tract. 

Berenger  was  indeed  only  eighteen,  and  Eustacie  more 
than  a  year  younger,  but  there  was  nothing  in  their  present 
age  to  invalidate  their  marriage,  for  pei'sons  of  their  rank 
were  usually  wedded  quite  as  young  or  younger.  Walsing- 
ham  was  only  concerned  at  his  old  friend's  disappointment, 
and  at  the  danger  of  the  yoinig  man  running  headlong  into 
a  connection  probably  no  more  suitable  tlian  that  with 
Diane  de  Eibaumont  would  have  been.  But  it  was  not 
convenient  to  argue  against  the  expediency  of  a  man's  lov- 
ing his  own  wife;  and  when  Berenger  boldly  declared  he 
was  not  talking  of  love  but  of  justice,  it  was  only  possible 
to  insist  that  he  should  pause  and  see  where  true  justice 
lay. 

And  thus  the  much  perplexed  embassador  broke  up  the 
conference  with  his  hot  and  angry  young  guest. 

"  And  Mistress  Lucy — ?"  siglied  Mr.  Adderley,  in  rather 
an  inn  pro  pas  fashion  it  must  be  ownei;  but  then  he  had 
been  fretted  beyond  endurance  by  his  pupil  striding  up  and 
down  his  room,  reviling  Diane,  and  describing  Eustacie, 
while  he  was  trying  to  write  these  uncomfortable  tidings  to 
Lord  Walwyn. 

"  Lucy!  What  makes  you  bring  her  up  to  me?"  ex- 
claimed Berenger.  "  Little  Dolly  would  be  as  much  to  the 
purpose!" 

"  Only,  sir,  no  resident  at  Hurst  Walwyn  could  fail  to 
know  what  has  been  planned  and  desired.'" 

"  Pshaw!"  cried  Berenger;  "  have  you  not  heard  that  it 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  C5 

was  a  mere  figment,  and  that  I  could  scarce  have  wedded 
Lucy  safely,  even  had  this  matter  gone  as  you  wish?  This 
is  the  hickiest  chance  that  could  have  befallen  her.  ■" 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Mr.  Adderley;  "  I  wish  she  may 
think  so — sweet  young  lady!'^ 

"  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Adderley,  you  should  know  better! 
Lucy  has  more  sense.  My  aunt,  whom  she  follows  more 
than  any  other  creature,  ever  silenced  the  very  sport  of 
semblance  of  love  passages  between  us  even  as  children,  by 
calling  them  unseemly  in  one  wedded  as  I  am.  Brother 
and  sister  we  have  ever  been,  and  have  loved  as  such — ay, 
and  shall!  I  know  of  late  some  schemes  have  crossed  my 
mother's  mind — " 

"  Yea,  and  that  of  others." 

"  But  they  have  not  ruffled  Lucy's  quiet  nature — trust 
me!  And  for  the  rest?  What  doth  she  need  of  me  in 
comparison  of  this  poor  child  ?  She — like  a  bit  of  her  own 
gray  lavender  in  the  shadiest  nook  of  the  walled  garden, 
tranquil  there — sure  not  to  be  taken  there,  save  to  company 
with  fine  linen  in  some  trim  scented  coffer,  whilst  this  fresh 
glowing  rosebud  has  grown  up  pure  and  precious  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  foulest  corruption  Christendom  can  show, 
and  if  I  snatch  her  not  from  it,  I,  the  only  living  man  who 
can,  look  you,  in  the  very  bloom  of  her  innocence  and 
sweetness,  what  is  to  be  her  fate?  The  very  pity  of  a 
Christian,  the  honor  of  a  gentleman,  would  urge  me,  even 
if  it  were  not  my  most  urgent  duty!" 

Mr.  Adderley  argued  no  more.  When  Berenger  came  to 
his  duty  in  the  matter  he  was  invincible,  and  moreover  all 
the  more  provoking,  because  he  mentioned  it  with  a  sort  of 
fiery  sound  of  relish,  and  looked  so  very  boyish  all  the  time. 
Poor  Mr.  Adderley!  feeling  as  if  his  trust  were  betrayed, 
loathing  the  very  idea  of  a  French  court  lady,  saw  that  his 
pupil  had  been  allured  into  a  headlong  passion  to  his  own 
misery,  and  that  of  all  whose  hopes  were  set  on  him,  yet 
preached  to  by  this  strijjling  scholar  about  duties  and  sacred 
obligations!  Well  might  he  rue  the  day  he  ever  set  foot  in 
Paris. 

Then,  to  his  further  annoyance,  came  a  royal  messenger 
to  invite  the  Baron  de  Ribaumont  to  join  the  expedition  to 
Montpipeau.  Of  course  he  must  go,  and  his  tutor  must  be 
left  behind,  and  who  could  tell  into  what  mischief  he  might 
not  be  tempted! 

3 


(f8  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS. 

Here,  Tiowever,  Sidney  gave  the  poor  chaplain  some  com- 
fort. He  beheved  that  no  ladies  were  to  be  of  the  party, 
and  that  the  gentlemen  were  chiefly  of  the  king's  new 
friends  among  the  Huguenots,  such  as  Coligny,  his  son-in- 
law  Teligny,  Eochefoucauld,  and  the  like,  among  whom 
the  young  gentleman  could  not  fall  into  any  very  serious 
harm,  and  might  very  possibly  be  influenced  against  a 
Eoman  Catholic  wife.  At  any  rate,  he  would  be  out  of  the 
way,  and  unable  to  take  any  dangerous  steps. 

This  same  consideration  so  annoyed  Berenger  that  he 
would  have  declined  the  invitation,  if  royal  invitations  could 
have  been  declined.  And  hi  the  morning,  before  setting 
out,  he  dressed  himself  point  device,  and  with  Osbert  be- 
hind him  marched  down  to  the  Croix  de  Lorraine,  to  call 
npon  the  Chevalier  de  Ribaumont.  He  had  a  very  line 
speech  at  his  tongue's  end  when  he  set  out,  but  a  good  deal 
of  it  had  evaporated  when  he  reached  the  hotel,  and  perhaps 
he  was  not  very  sorry  not  to  find  the  old  gentleman 
within. 

On  his  return,  he  indited  a  note  to  the  chevalier,  ex- 
plaining that  he  had  now  seen  his  wife,  Mme.  la  Baronne 
de  Eibaumont,  and  had  come  to  an  understanding  with 
her,  by  which  he  found  that  it  was  under  a  mistake  that 
the  aj) plication  to  the  Pope  had  been  signed,  and  that  they 
should,  therefore,  follow  it  up  with  a  protest,  and  act  as  if 
no  such  letter  had  been  sent. 

Berenger  showed  this  letter  to  Walsingham,  who,  though 
much  concerned,  could  not  forbid  his  sending  it.  "  Poor 
lad,"  he  said  to  the  tutur;  "  'tis  an  excellently  writ  billet 
for  one  so  young.  I  would  it  were  in  a  wiser  cause.  But 
he  has  fttirly  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  and  there  is  no 
checking  him  while  he  has  this  show  of  right  on  his  side." 

And  poor  Mr.  Adderley  could  only  beseech  Mr.  Sidney  to 
take  care  of  him. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

THE   queen's   pastoral. 

Either  very  gravely  gay, 
Or  very  gayly  grave. 

W.  M.  Pkaed. 

Moftpipeau,  though  in  the  present  day  a  suburb  of 
Paris,  was  in  the  sixteenth  century  far  enough  from  the 


THB    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  67 

city  to  form  a  sylvan  retreat,  where  Charles  IX.  could  snatch 
a  short  respite  from  the  intrigues  of  his  court,  under  pre- 
text of  enjoying  his  favorite  sport.  Surrounded  with  his 
favored  associates  of  the  Huguenot  party,  he  seemed  to 
breathe  a  purer  atmosphere,  and  to  yield  himself  up  to  en- 
joyment greater  than  perhaps  his  sad  life  had  ever  known. 

He  rode  among  his  gentlemen,  and  the  brilliant  cavalcado 
joassed  through  poplar-shaded  roads,  clattered  through  vil- 
lages, and  threaded  their  way  througli  bits  of  forest  still  left 
for  the  royal  chase.  The  people  thi'onged  out  of  their 
houses,  and  shouted  not  only  "  Vive  le  Roy,"  but  "  Vive 
FAmiral,^'  and  more  than  once  the  cry  was  added, 
*'  Spanish  war,  or  civil  war!''  The  heart  of  France  was,  if 
not  with  the  lieformed,  at  least  against  Spain  and  the  Lor- 
rainers,  and  Sidney  perceived,  from  the  conversation  of  the 
gentlemen  round  him,  that  the  present  expedition  had 
been  devised  less  for  the  sake  of  the  sport,  than  to  enable 
the  king  to  take  measures  for  emancipating  himself  from 
the  thralldom  of  his  mother,  and  engaging  the  country  in  a 
war  against  Philip  H.  Sidney  listened,  but  Eerenger 
chafed,  feeling  only  that  he  was  being  further  carried  out 
of  reach  of  his  explanation  with  his  kindred.  And  thus 
they  arrived  at  Montpipeau,  a  tower,  tall  and  narrow,  like 
all  French  designs,  but  expanded  on  the  ground-floor  by 
wooden  buildings  capable  of  containing  the  numerous  train 
of  a  royal  hunter,  and  surrounded  by  an  extent  of  waste 
land,  without  fine  trees,  though  with  covert  for  deer,  boars, 
and  wolves  sufiicient  for  sport  to  royalty  and  death  to 
peasantry.  Charles  seemed  to  sit  more  erect  in  his  saddle, 
and  to  drink  in  joy  with  every  breath  of  the  thyme-scented 
breeze,  from  the  moment  his  horse  bounded  on  the  hollow- 
sounding  turf;  and  when  he  leaped  to  the  ground,  with  the 
elastic  spring  of  youth,  he  held  out  his  hands  to  Sidney  and 
to  Teligny,  crying,  "  Welcome,  my  friends.  Here  I  am  in- 
deed a  king!'' 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  evening,  early  in  August,  and 
Charles  bade  the  sup^jer  to  be  spread  under  the  elms  that 
shaded  a  green  lawn  in  front  of  the  chateau.  Etiquette  was 
here  so  far  I'elaxed  as  to  permit  the  sovereign  to  dine  with 
his  suite,  and  tables,  chairs  and  benches  were  brought  out, 
drapery  festooned  in  the  trees  to  keep  off  sun  and  wind,  the 
king  lay  down  in  the  fern  and  let  his  happy  dogs  fondle 
■  him,  and  as  a  herd-girl  passed  along  a  vista  in  the  distance. 


68  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

driving  her  goats  before  her,  Pliilip  Sidney  marveled 
whether  it  was  not  even  thus  in  Arcadia. 

Presently  there  was  a  sound  of  horses  trampling,  wheels 
moving,  a  party  of  gayly  gilded  archers  of  the  guard  jingled 
up,  and  in  their  midst  was  a  coach.  Berenger's  heart 
seemed  to  leap  at  once  to  his  lips,  as  a  glimpse  of  ruffs, 
hats,  and  silks  dawned  on  him  through  the  windows. 

The  king  rose  from  his  lair  among  the  fern,  the  admiral 
stood  forward,  all  heads  were  bared,  and  from  the  coach- 
door  alighted  the  young  queen;  no  longer  pale,  subdued, 
and  indifferent,  but  with  a  face  shining  with  girlish  delight, 
as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  the  admiral.  "  Ah!  this  is 
well,  this  is  beautiful,'^  she  exclaimed;  "it  is  like  our 
hajDpy  chases  in  the  Tyrol.  Ah,  sire!"  to  the  king,  "  how 
I  thank  yo^^  for  letting  me  be  with  you. " 

After  her  majesty  descended  her  gentleman-usher.  Then 
came  the  lady-in-waiting,  Mme.  de  Sauve,  the  wife  of  the 
state  secretary  in  attendance  on  Charles,  and  a  triumphant, 
coquettish  beauty,  then  a  fat,  good-humored  Austrian  dame, 
always  called  Mme.  la  Comtesse,  because  her  German  name 
was  unpronounceable,  and  without  whom  the  queen  never 
stirred,  and  lastly  a  little  figure,  rounded  yet  shght,  slender 
yet  soft  and  ]3lump,  with  a  kitten-like  alertness  and  grace 
of  motion,  as  she  sjorung  out,  collected  the  queen's  proper- 
ties of  fan,  kerchief,  230uncet-box,  mantle,  etc.,  and  disap- 
peared into  the  chateau,  without  Berenger's  being  sure  of 
anything  but  that  her  little  black  hat  had  a  rose-colored 
feather  in  it. 

The  queen  was  led  to  a  chair  and  placed  under  one  of  the 
largest  trees,  and  there  Charles  presented  to  her  such  of  his 
gentlemen  as  she  was  not  yet  acquainted  with,  the  Baron  de 
Eibaumont  among  the  rest. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Monsieur  de  Eibaumont,"  she  said,  in 
a  tone  that  made  the  color  mantle  in  his  fair  cheek;  and 
with  a  sign  of  her  hand  she  detained  him  at  her  side  till  the 
king  had  strolled  away  with  Mme.  la  Sauve,  and  no  one 
remained  near  but  her  German  countess.  Then  changing 
her  tone  to  one  of  confidence,  which  the  high-bred  homeli- 
ness of  her  Austrian  manner  rendered  inexpressibly  engag- 
ing, she  said,  "  I  must  apologize,  monsieur,  for  the  giddi- 
ness of  my  sister-in-law,  which  I  fear  caused  you  some 
embarrassment. ' ' 

*'  Ah,  madame,"  said  Berenger,  kneeling  on  one  knee  as 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  G9 

she  addressed  him,  and  his  heart  bounding  with  wild,  un- 
defined hope,  "  I  can  not  be  grateful  enough.  It  was  that 
which  led  to  my  being  undeceived/' 

"  It  was  true,  then,  that  you  were  mistaken ?''  said  the 
queen. 

"  Treacherously  deceived,  madame,  by  those  whose  in- 
terest it  is  to  keep  us  apart,"  said  Berenger,  coloring  with 
indignation;  "  they  imposed  my  other  cousin  on  me  as  my 
wife,  and  caused  her  to  think  me  cruelly  neglectful.  " 

''  I  know,"  said  the  queen.  "  Yet  Mademoiselle  de 
Ribaumont  is  far  more  admired  than  my  little  blackbird.  " 

"  That  may  be,  madame,  but  not  by  me." 

"  Yet  it  is  true  that  you  came  to  break  off  the  marriage?^' 

"  Y"es,  madame,"  said  Berenger,  honestly,  "but  I  had 
not  seen  her." 

"  And  now?''  said  the  queen,  smiling. 

"  I  would  rather  die  than  give  her  i\j),"  said  Berenger. 
*'  Oh,  madame,  help  us  of  your  grace.  Every  one  is  trying 
to  part  us,  every  one  is  arguing  against  us,  but  she  is  my 
own  true  wedded  wife,  and  if  you  will  but  give  her  to  me, 
all  will  be  wen." 

"  I  like  you.  Monsieur  de  Eibaumont,"  said  the  queen, 
looking  him  full  in  the  face.  "  Y^ou  are  like  our  own  honest 
Germans  at  my  home,  and  I  think  you  mean  all  you  sa}''. 
I  had  much  rather  my  dear  little  Nid-de-Merle  were  with 
you  than  left  here,  to  become  like  all  the  others.  She  is  a 
good  little  LieUing — how  do  you  call  it  in  French?  She 
has  told  told  me  all,  and  truly  I  would  help  you  with  all 
my  heart,  but  it  is  not  as  if  I  were  the  queen-mother.  Y"ou 
must  have  recourse  to  the  king,  who  loves  you  well,  and  at 
my  request  included  you  in  the  hunting-party. " 

Berenger  could  only  kiss  her  hand  in  token  of  earnest 
thanks  before  the  repast  was  announced,  and  the  king  came 
to  lead  her  to  the  table  sjjread  beneath  the  trees.  The 
whole  party  supped  together,  but  Berenger  could  have  only 
a  distant  view  of  his  little  wife,  looking  very  demure  and 
grave  by  the  side  of  the  admiral. 

But  when  the  meal  was  ended,  there  was  a  loitering  in 
the  woodland  jjaths,  amid  heathy  openings  or  glades 
trimmed  into  discreet  wildness  fit  for  royal  rusticity;  the 
sun  set  in  parting  glory  on  one  horizon,  the  moon  rising  in 
crimson  majesty  on  the  other.  A  musician  at  intervals 
touched  the  guitar,  and  sung  Spanish  or  Italian  airs,  whose 


70  THE  OHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

soft  or  quaint  melody  came  dreamily  through  the  trees. 
Then  it  was  that  with  beating  heart  Berenger  stole  up  to 
the  maiden  as  she  stood  behind  the  queen,  and  ventured  to 
whisper  her  iiame  and  clasp  her  hand. 

She  turned,  their  eyes  met,  and  she  let  him  lead  her 
apart  into  the  wood.  It  was  not  like  a  lover's  tryst,  it  was 
more  like  the  contiraiation  of  their  old  childish  terms,  only 
that  he  treated  her  as  a  thing  of  his  own,  that  he  was  bound 
to  secure  and  to  guard,  and  she  received  him  as  her  own 
lawful  but  tardy  protector,  to  be  treated  with  perfect  reli' 
ance  but  with  a  certain  playful  resentment. 

"  You  will  not  run  away  from  me  now,"  he  said,  making 
full  prize  of  her  hand  and  arm. 

"  Ah!  is  not  she  the  dearest  and  best  of  queens?^'  and  the 
large  eyes  were  lifted  up  to  him  in  such  frank  seeking  of 
sympathy  that  he  could  see  into  the  depths  of  their  clear 
darkness. 

"It  is  her  doing  then.  Though,  Eustacie,  wheii  I  knew 
the  truth,  not  flood  nor  fire  should  kee])  me  long  from  you, 
my  heart,  my  love,  my  wife.'^ 

"  What!  wife  in  spite  of  those  villainous  letters?''  she 
said,  trying  to  pout. 

"  Wife  forever,  inseparably!  Only  you  must  be  able  to 
swear  that  you  knew  nothing  of  the  one  that  brougbt  me 
here. " 

"  Poor  me!  No,  indeed!  There  was  Celine  carried  off 
at  fourteen,  Madame  de  Blanchet  a  bride  at  fifteen;  all 
marrying  hither  and  thither;  and  I — "  she  pulled  a  face 
irresistibly  droll — "I  growing  old  enough  to  dress  St. 
Catherine's  hair,  and  wondering  where  was  Monsieur  le 
Baron." 

"  They  thought  me  too  young,"  said  Berenger,  "  to  take 
on  me  the  cares  of  life." 

"  So  they  were  left  to  me?" 

"  Cares!  what  cares  have  you  but  finding  the  queen's 
fan?" 

"  Little  you  know!"  she  said,  half  contemptuous,  half 
mortified. 

"  Nay,  pardon  me,  ?)ia  inle.     Who  has  troubled  you?" 

"  Ah!  you  would  call  it  nothing  to  be  beset  by  Narcisse, 
to  be  told  one's  husband  is  faithless,  till  one  half  believes  it; 
to  be  looked  at  by  ugly  eyes;  to  be  liable  to  be  teased  any 


THE  THAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  7l 

day  by  Monsieur,  or  worse,  by  that  mocking  ape,  Monsieur 
crAlen(;on,  and  to  have  nobody  who  can  or  will  hinder  it/' 

She  was  sobbing  by  this  time,  and  he  exchiimed,  "  Ah, 
would  that  I  could  revenge  all!  Never,  never  shall  it  be 
again!     What  blessed  grace  has  guarded  you  through  all?" 

"  Did  I  not  belong  to  you?''  she  said  exultingly.  "  And 
had  not  Sister  Monique,  yes,  and  Monsieur  le  Baron,  striven 
hard  to  make  me  good?    Ah,  how  kind  he  was!" 

*'  My  father?  Yes,  Eustacie,  he  loved  you  to  the  last. 
He  bade  me,  on  his  death-bed,  give  you  his  own  Book  of 
Psalms,  and  tell  you  he  had  al  ways  loved  and  prayed  for 
you." 

"  Ah!  his  Psalms!  I  shall  love  them!  Even  at  Bellaise, 
when  first  we  came  there,  we  used  to  sing  them,  but  the 
Mother  Abbess  went  oat  visiting,  and  when  she  came  back 
she  said  they  were  heretical.  And  Soeur  Monique  would 
not  let  me  say  the  texts  he  taught  me,  but  I  would  not 
forget  them.     1  say  them  often  in  my  heart." 

"  Then,"  he  cried  joyfully,  "  you  will  willingly  embrace 
my  religion?" 

"  Be  a  Huguenot?"  she  said  distastefully. 

*'  I  am  not  precisely  a  Huguenot;  I  do  not  love  them," 
he  answered  hastily;  "  but  all  shall  be  made  clear  to  you  at 
my  home  in  England. " 

"  England!"  she  said.  ''Must  wq  hve  in  England? 
Away  from  every  one?" 

"  Ah,  they  will  love  yon  so  much!  I  shall  make  you  so 
happy  there,"  he  answered.  "  There  you  will  see  what  it 
is  to  be  true  and  trustworthy. " 

"  I  had  rather  live  at  Chateau  Leurre,  or  my  own  Nid- 
de-Merle,"  she  replied.  "There  I  should  see  Soeur 
Monique,  and  my  aunt,  the  abbess,  and  we  would  liave  the 
peasants  to  dance  in  the  castle  court.  Oh!  if  you  could 
but  see  the  orchards  at  Le  Bocage,  you  would  never  want  to 
go  away.  And  we  could  come  now  and  then  to  see  my  dear 
queen. " 

"  I  am  glad  at  least  you  would  not  live  at  court." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  have  been  more  unhappy  here  than  ever  I 
knew  could  be  borne." 

And  a  very  few  words  from  him  drew  out  all  that  had 
happened  to  her  since  they  parted.  Her  father  had  sent 
her  to  Bellaise,  a  convent  founded  by  the  first  of  the 
Angevin  branch,  which  was  presided  over  by  his  sister,  and 


73  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

where  Diane  ■was  also  educated.  The  good  Sister  Monique 
had  been  mistress  of  the  pcnsionnaires,  and  had  evidently 
taken  much  pains  to  keep  her  charge  innocent  and  devout. 
Diane  had  been  taken  to  court  about  two  years  before,  but 
Eustacie  had  remained  at  the  convent  till  some  three 
months  since,  when  she  had  been  appointed  maid-of-honor 
to  the  recently  married  queen;  and  her  uncle  had  fetched 
her  from  Anjou,  and  had  informed  her  at  the  same  time 
that  her  young  husband  had  turned  Englishman  and  here- 
tic, and  that  after  a  few  formalities  had  been  complied 
with,  she  would  become  the  wife  of  her  cousin  Narcisse. 
Now  there  was  no  person  whom  she  so  much  dreaded  as 
Narcisse,  and  when  Berenger  spoke  of  him  as  a  feeble  foj^, 
she  shuddered  as  though  she  knew  him  to  have  something 
of  the  tiger. 

''Do  you  remember  Benoit?"  she  said;  "  poor  Benoit, 
who  came  to  Normandy  as  my  laqnais  f  When  I  went  back 
to  Anjou  he  married  a  girl  from  Leurre,  and  went  to  aid 
liis  father  at  the  farm.  The  j)Oor  fellow  had  imbibed  the 
baron's  doctrine — he  spread  it.  It  was  reported  that  there 
was  a  nest  of  Huguenots  on  the  estate.  My  cousin  came 
to  break  it  tip  with  his  gendarmes.  Oh,  Berenger,  he 
would  hear  no  entreaties,  he  had  no  mercy;  he  let  them 
assemble  on  Sunday,  that  they  might  be  all  together.  He 
fired  the  house;  shot  down  those  who  escaped;  if  a  prisoner 
were  made,  gave  him  up  to  the  Bishop's  Court.  Benoit, 
my  jDOor  good  Benoit,  who  used  to  lead  my  jjalf rey,  was  first 
wounded,  then  tried,  and  burned— burned  in  the  place  at 
LuQon!  I  heard  Narcisse  laugh — laugh  as  he  talked  of  the 
cries  of  the  poor  creatures  in  the  conventicle.  My  own 
people,  who  loved  me!  I  was  but  twelve  years  old,  but 
even  then  the  wretch  would  pay  me  a  half-mocking  court- 
esy, as  one  destined  to  him;  and  the  more  I  disdained  him 
and  said  I  belonged  to  you,  the  more  both  he  and  my 
aunt,  the  abbess,  smiled,  as  though  they  had  their  bird  m 
a  cage;  but  they  left  me  in  peace  till  my  uncle  brought  me 
to  court,  and  then  all  began  again;  and  when  they  said 
you  gave  me  ujd,  I  had  no  hope,  not  even  of  a  convent. 
But  ah,  it  is  all  over  now,  and  I  am  so  happy!  You  are 
grown  so  gentle  and  so  beautiful,  Bereuger,  and  so  much 
taller  than  I  ever  figured  you  to  myself,  and  you  look  as  if 
you  could  take  me  up  in  your  arms,  and  let  no  harm  hap- 
pen to  me. " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  7l] 

"  Never,  never  shall  it!"  said  Berenger,  feeling  all  man- 
hood, strength,  and  love  stir  within  him,  and  growing  many 
years  in  heart  in  that  hapj)y  moment.  "  My  sweet  little 
faithful  wife,  never  fear  again  now  you  are  mine. " 

Alas!  poor  children.  They  were  a  good  way  from  the 
security  they  had  begun  to  fancy  for  themselves.  Early 
the  next  morning,  Bei'enger  went  in  his  straightforward 
■way  to  the  king,  thanked  him,  and  requested  his  sanction 
for  at  once  prodncing  themselves  to  the  court  as  M.  le 
Baron  and  Mme.  la  Baronne  de  Ribaumont. 

At  this  Charles  swore  a  great  oath,  as  one  in  perplexity, 
and  bade  him  not  go  so  fast. 

"  See  here,"  said  he,  with  the  rude  expletives  only  too 
habitual  with  him;  "  she  is  a  pretty  little  girl,  and  she  and 
her  lands  are  much  better  with  an  honest  man.  like  you 
than  with  that  pcndard  of  a  cousin;  but  you  see  he  is  bent 
on  having  her,  and  he  belongs  to  a  cut-throat  crew  that 
halt  at  nothing.  I  would  not  answer  for  your  life,  if  you 
tempted  him  so  strongly  to  rid  himself  of  you." 

"  My  own  sword,  sire,  can  guard  my  life.'" 

"  Plague  upon  your  sword!  What  does  the  foolish  youth 
think  it  would  do  a^gainst  half  a  dozen  poniards  and  jjistols 
in  a  lane  black  as  hell's  mouth?" 

The  foolish  youth  was  thinking  how  could  a  king  so  full 
of  fiery  words  and  strange  oaths  bear  to  make  such  an 
avowal  respecting  his  own  caj)ital  and  his  own  courtiers. 
All  he  could  do  was  to  bow  and  reply,  "  Nevertheless,  sire, 
at  whatever  risk,  I  can  not  relinquish  my  wife;  I  would 
take  her  at  once  to  the  embassador's." 

"  How,  sir!"  interrupted  Charles,  haughtily  and  angrily, 
*'  if  you  forget  that  you  are  a  French  nobleman  still,  I 
should  remember  it!  The  embassador  may  protect  his 
own  countrymen — none  else. " 

"  I  entreat  your  majesty's  pardon,"  said  Berenger,  anx- 
ious to  retract  his  false  step.  ''  It  was  your  goodness  and 
the  gracious  queen's  that  made  me  hope  for  your  sanc- 
tion. " 

"  All  the  sanction  Charles  de  Valois  can  give  is  yours, 
and  welcome,"  said  the  king,  hastily.  "The  sanction  of 
the  King  of  France  is  another  matter  I  To  say  the  truth, 
I  see  no  way  out  of  the  affair  but  an  elopement." 

"  Sire!"  exclaimed  the  astonished  Berenger,  whose  strict- 


^4  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

ly  disciplined  education  had  little  prepared  him  for  such 
counsel. 

*'  Look  you!  If  I  made  you  known  as  a  wedded  pair,  the 
chevalier  and  his  son  would  not  only  assassinate  you,  but 
down  on  me  would  come  my  brother,  and  my  mothei,  and 
Monsieur  de  Guise,  and  all  their  crew,  veritably  for  giving 
the  prize  out  of  the  mouth  of  their  satellite,  but  nominallj' 
for  disregarding  the  Pope,  favoring  a  heretical  marriage, 
and  I  know  not  what,  but,  as  things  go  here,  I  should 
assuredly  get  the  worst  of  it;  and  if  you  made  safely  oft 
with  your  prize,  no  one  could  gainsay  you — I  need  know 
nothing  about  it — and  lady  and  lands  would  be  yours  with- 
out dispute.  You  might  ride  off  from  the  skirts  of  the  forest; 
I  would  lead  the  hunt  that  way,  and  the  three  days'  riding 
would  bring  you  to  Normandy,  for  you  had  best  cross  tc 
England  immediately.  When  she  is  once  there,  owned  by 
your  kindred,  Monsieur  le  Cousin  may  gnash  his  teeth  as 
he  will,  he  must  make  the  best  of  it  for  the  sake  of  the 
honor  of  his  house,  and  you  can  safely  come  back  and  raise 
her  people  and  yours  to  follow  the  Oriflamme  when  it  takes 
the  field  against  Spain.  What!  you  are  still  discontented? 
Speak  out!  Plain  speaking  is  a  treat  not  often  reserved  for 
me. ' ' 

"  Sire,  lam  most  grateful  for  your  kindness,  but  I  should 
greatly  j^refer  going  straightforward. " 

"  Peste!  Well  is  it  said  that  a  blundering  Englishman 
goes  always  right  before  him!  There,  then!  -As  your  king 
on  the  one  hand,  as  the  friend  who  has  brought  you  and 
your  wife  together,  sir,  it  is  my  command  that  you  do  not 
compromise  me  and  embroil  greater  matters  than  you  can 
understand  by  publicly  claiming  this  girl.  Privately  I  will 
aid  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability;  publicly,  I  command  you, 
for  my  sake,  if  you  heed  not  your  own,  to  be  silent!" 

Berenger  sought  out  Sidney,  who  smiled  at  his  sur- 
prise. 

"  Do  you  not  see,''  he  said,  "  that  the  king  is  your  friend, 
and  would  be  very  glad  to  save  the  lady's  lands  from  the 
Guisards,  but  that  he  can  not  say  so;  he  can  only  befriend 
a  Huguenot  by  stealth. " 

*'  1  would  not  be  such  a  king  for  worlds!" 

However,  Eustacie  was  enchanted.  It  was  like  a  prince 
and  princess  in  Mere  Perinne's  fairy-tales.  Could  they  go 
£ike  a  shepherd  and  shepherdess?     She  had  no  fears — no 


(THE    CHAPLET    of    PEARLS.  ^5 

scruples.  Would  she  not  be  with  her  husband?  It  was 
the  most  charming  frolic  in  the  world.  So  the  king 
seemed  to  think  it,  though  he  was  determined  to  call  it  all 
the  queen's  doing — the  first  intrigue  of  her  own,  making 
her  like  all  the  rest  of  us — the  queen's  little  comedy.  He 
undertook  to  lead  the  chase  as  far  as  j^ossible  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Normandy,  when  the  young  pair  might  ride  on  to  an 
inn,  meet  fresh  horses,  and  proceed  to  Chateau  Leurre, 
and  thence  to  England.  He  would  himself  provide  a  safe- 
conduct,  whicli,  as  Berenger  suggested,  would  represent 
them  as  a  young  Englishman  taking  home  his  young  wife. 
Eustacie  wanted  at  least  to  masquerade  as  an  Englishwom- 
an, and  played  off  all  the  fragments  of  the  language  she 
had  caught  as  a  child,  but  Berenger  only  laughed  at  her, 
and  said  they  just  fitted  the  French  bride.  It  was  veiy 
pretty  to  laugh  at  Eustacie;  she  made  such  a  droll  pretense 
at  pouting  with  her  rosebud  lips,  and  her  merry  velvety 
eyes  belied  them  so  drolly. 

Sueli  was  to  be  the  queen's  pastoral;  but  when  Elizabeth 
found  the  responsibility  so  entirely  thrown  on  her,  she  be- 
gan to  loolv  grave  and  frightened.  It  was  no  doubt  much 
more  than  she  had  intended  when  she  brought  about  the 
meeting  between  the  young  people;  and  the  king,  who  had 
planned  the  elopement,  seemed  still  resolved  to  make  all 
appear  her  affair.  She  looked  all  day  more  like  the  grave, 
spiritless  being  she  was  at  court  than  like  the  bright  young 
rural  queen  of  the  evening  before,  and  she  w^as.  long  in  her 
little  oratory  chapel  in  the  evening.  Berenger,  who  was 
waiting  in  the  hall  with  the  other  Huguenot  gentlemen, 
thought  her  devotions  interminable  since  they  delayed  all 
her  ladies.  At  length,  however,  a  page  came  up  to  him, 
and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  The  queen  desires  the  jDresehce  cf 
Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Ribauniont. " 

He  followed  the  messenger,  and  found  himself  in  the 
little  chapel,  before  a  gayly  adorned  altar,  and  numerous 
little  shrines  and  iiiches  round.  Sidney  would  have  dread- 
ed a  surreptitious  attempt  to  make  him  conform,  but 
Berenger  had  no  notion  of  such  23erils — he  only  saw  that 
Eustacie  was  standing  by  the  queen's  chair;  the  king  sat 
carelessly,  perhaps  a  little  sullenly,  in  another  chair,  and  a 
kindly-looking  Austrian  priest,  the  queen's  confessor,  held 
a  book  in  his  hand. 

The  queen  came  to  meet  him.     "For  my  sake/ 'she 


76  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

said,  with  all  lier  sweetness,  *'  to  ease  my  mind,  I  should 
like  to  see  my  little  Eustacie  made  entirely  your  own  ere 
you  go.  Father  Meinhard  tells  me  it  is  safer  that,  when 
the  parties  were  under  twelve  years  old,  the  troth  should  be 
again  exchanged.     No  other  ceremony  is  needed." 

"  1  desire  nothing  but  to  have  her  made  indissolubly 
my  own,' '  said  Bereiiger,  bowiug. 

"  And  the  king  permits,' '  added  Elizabeth. 

The  king  growled  out,  "  It  is  your  comedy,  madame;  I 
meddle  not. " 

The  Austrian  priest  had  no  common  language  with 
Berenger  but  Latin.  He  asked  a  few  questions,  and  on 
hearing  the  answers,  declared  that  the  sacrament  of  mar- 
riage had  been  complete,  but  that — as  was  often  done  in 
snch  cases — he  would  once  more  hear  the  troth-plight  of 
the  young  pair.  The  brief  formula  was  therefore  at  once 
exchanged — the  king,  when  the  qneon  looked  entreatingly 
at  him,  rousing  himself  to  make  the  bride  over  to  Berenger. 
As  soon  as  the  vows  had  been  made,  in  the  briefest  manner, 
the  king  broke  in  boisterously:  "  There,  you  are  twice 
married,  to  j)lease  madame  there;  but  hold  your  tongues 
all  of  you  about  this  scene  in  the  play. " 

Then  almost  jiushing  Eustacie  over  to  Berenger,  he  add- 
ed, "  There  she  is!  take  your  wife,  sir:  but  mind,  she  was 
as  mucli  yours  before  as  she  is  now." 

But  for  all  Berenger  had  said  about  "  his  wife,"  it  was 
only  now  that  he  really /e/^  her  his  own,  and  became  hus- 
band rather  than  lover — man  instead  of  boy.  She  was  en- 
tirely his  own  now,  and  he  only  desired  to  be  away  with 
her;  but  some  days'  delay  was  necessary.  A  chase  on  the 
scale  of  the  one  that  was  to  favor  their  evasion  could  not  be 
got  up  without  some  notice;  and,  moreover,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  procure  money,  for  neither  Sidney  nor  Eibauniont 
had  more  than  enough  with  them  for  the  needful  liberahties 
to  the  king's  servants  and  huntsmen.  Indeed  Berenger 
had  spent  all  that  remained  in  liis  purse  uj^on  the  wares  of 
an  Italian  i^eddler  whom  he  and  Eustacie  met  in  the  woods, 
and  whose  gloves  "as  sweet  as  fragrant  posies,"  fans, 
scent-boxes,  pocket  mirrors,  Genoa  wire,  Venice  chains, 
and  other  toys,  afforded  him  the  means  of  making  up  the 
gifts  that  he  wished  to  carry  home  to  his  sisters;  and  Eus- 
tacie's  counsel  was  merrily  given  in  the  choice.  And  when 
the  vender  began  with  a  meaning  smile  to  recommend  to 


THE    CIIAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  77 

the  young  pair  themselves  a  little  silver-netted  heart  as  a 
love-token,  and  it  turned  out  that  all  Berenger's  money 
was  gone,  so  that  it  could  not  he  bought  without  giving. up 
the  scented  casket  destiued  for  Lucy,  Eustacie  turned  with 
her  sweetest  proudest  smile,  and  said,  "  No,  no;  I  will  not 
have  it;  what  do  we  two  want  with  love-tokens  now?" 

Sidney  had  taken  the  youthful  and  romantic  view  of  the 
ease,  and  considered  himself  to  be  taking  the  besb  possible 
care  of  his  young  friend,  by  enabling  him  to  deal  honorably 
with  so  charming  a  little  wife  as  Eustacie.  Embassador 
and  tutor  would  doubtless  be  very  angry;  but  Sidney  could 
judge  for  himself  of  the  lady,  and  he  therefore  threw  him- 
self into  her  interests,  and  sent  his  servant  back  to  Paris  to 
procure  the  necessary  sum  for  the  journey  of  Master  Henry 
Berenger  and  Mistress  Mary,  his  wife.  Sidney  was,  on  his 
return  alone  to  Paris,  to  explain  all  to  the  elders,  and 
pacify  them  as  best  he  could ;  and  his  servant  was  already 
the  bearer  of  a  letter  fi'om  Berenger  that  was  to  be  sent  at 
once  to  England  with  AValsingham^s  dis2:)atches,  to  prepare 
Lord  Walwyn  for  the  arrival  of  the  runaways.  The  poor 
boy  labored  to  be  impressively  caltn  and  reasonable  in  his 
explanation  of  the  misrejjresentation,  and  of  his  strong 
grounds  for  assuming  his  rights,  with  his  j)ersuasion  that 
his  wife  would  readily  join  the  English  Church — a  consider- 
ation that  he  knew  would  greatly  smooth  the  way  for  her. 
Indeed,  his  own  position  was  impregnable:  nobody  could 
blame  him  for  taking  his  own  wife  to  himself,  and  he  was 
so  sure  of  her  charms,  that  he  troubled  himself  very  little 
about  the  impression  she  might  make  on  his  kindred.  If 
they  loved  her,  it  was  all  right;  if  not,  he  could  take  her 
back  to  his  own  castle,  and  win  fame  and  honor  under  the 
banner  of  France  in  the  Low  Countries.  As  to  Lucy  This- 
tlewood,  she  was  far  too  discreet  to  feel  any  disappointment 
or  displeasure;  or  if  she  sliould,  it  was  her  own  fault  and 
that  of  his  mother,  for  all  her  life  she  had  known  him  to 
be  married.  So  he  finished  his  letter  with  a  message  that 
the  bells  should  be  ready  to  ring,  and  that  wdien  Philip 
heard  three  guns  fired  on  the  coast,  he  might  light  the  big 
beacon  jjile  above  the  combe. 

Meantime  "  the  Queen's  Pastoral  "  was  much  relished 
by  all  the  spectators.  The  state  of  things  was  only  avowed 
to  Charles,  Elizabeth,  and  Philip  Sidney,  and  even  the  last 
did  not  know  of  the  renewed  troth  which  the  king  chose  to 


78  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

treat  as  sncli  a  secret;  but  no  one  liacl  any  doubt  of  the 
mutual  relations  of  M.  de  Eibaumont  and  Mile,  de  Nid-de- 
Merle,  and  their  dream  of  bliss  was  like  a  pastoral  for  the 
special  diversion  of  the  holiday  of  Montpipeau.  The  trans- 
parency of  their  indifference  in  company,  their  meeting- 
eyes,  their  trysts  with  the  secrecy  of  an  ostrich,  were  the 
subjects  of  constant  amusement  to  the  elders,  more 
especially  as  the  shyness,  blushes,  and  caution  Avere  much 
more  on  the  side  of  the  young  husband  than  on  that  of  the 
lady.  Fresh  from  her  convent,  sim23le  with  childishness 
and  innocence,  it  was  to  her  only  the  natural  completion  of 
her  life  to  bo  altogether  Berenger's,  and  the  brief  conceal- 
ment of  their  full  union  added  a  certain  romantic  enchant- 
ment, which  added  to  her  exultation  in  her  victory  over  her 
cruel  kindred.  She  had  been  upon  her  own  mind,  poor 
child,  for  her  few  weeks  of  court  life,  but  not  long 
enough  to  make  her  grow  older,  though  just  so  long 
as  to  make  the  sense  of  having  her  own  protector  with  her 
doubly  precious.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  though  full  of 
happiness,  did  also  feel  constantly  deepening  on  him  the 
sense  of  the  charge  and  responsibility  he  had  assumed, 
hardly  knowing  how.  The  more  dear  Eustacie  became  to 
him,  the  more  she  rested  on  him  and  became  entirely  his, 
the  more  his  boyhood  and  insouciance  drifted  aw^ay  behind 
him;  and  while  he  could  hardly  bear  to  have  his  darling  a 
moment  out  of  his  sight,  the  less  he  could  endure  any  re- 
mark or  jest  upon  his  affection  for  her.  His  home  had 
been  a  refined  one,  where  Cecily's  convent  purity  seemed 
to  diffuse  an  atmosphere  of  modest  reserve  such  ai:;  did  not 
prevail  in  the  court  of  the  Maiden  Queen  herself,  and  the 
lad  of  eighteen  had  not  seen  enough  of  the  outer  M'orld  to 
have  rubbed  off  any  of  that  grace.  His  seniority  to  his 
little  wife  seemed  to  show  itself  chiefly  in  his  being  jDut  out 
of  countenance  for  her,  when  she  was  too  innocent  and  too 
proud  of  her  secret  matronhood  to  understand  or  resent 
the  wit. 

Little  did  he  know  that  this  was  the  ballet-like  interlude 
in  a  great  and  terrible  tragedy,  whose_  first  act  was  being 
played  out  on  the  stage  where  they  schemed  and  sported, 
like  their  own  little  drama,  which  was  all  tbe  world  to 
them,  and  nothing  to  the  others.  Berenger  knew  indeed 
that  the  admiral  was  greatly  rejoiced  that  the  Nid-de-Merle 
estates  should  go  into  Protestant  hands,  and  that  the  old 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  70 

gentleman  lost  no  opj^ortunity  of  impressing  on  him  that 
they  were  a  heavy  trust,  to  be  used  for  the  benefit  of  "  the 
religion/' and  for  tlie  support  of  the  king  in  his  better 
mind.  But  it  may  be  feared  that  he  did  not  give  a  very 
attentive  ear  to  all  this.  He  did  not  like  to  think  of  those 
estates;  he  would  gladly  have  left  them  all  to  Narcisse,  so 
that  he  might  have  their  lady,  and  though  quite  willing  to 
Aviii  his  sjDurs  under  Charles  and  Coligny  against  the  Span- 
iard, his  heart  and  head  were  far  too  full  to  take  in  the 
web  of  polities.  Sooth  to  say,  the  elojaement  in  prospect 
seemed  to  him  infinitely  more  important  than  JPope  or 
Spaniard,  Guise  or  Huguenot,  and  Coligny  observed  with 
a  sigh  to  Teligny  that  lie  was  a  good  boy,  but  nothing  but 
the  merest  boy,  with  eyes  open  only  to  himself. 

AVhen  Charles  undertook  to  rehearse  their  escape  with 
them,  and  the  queen  drove  out  in  a  little  high-wheeled  litter 
with  Mme.  la  Comtesse,  while  Mme.  de  Sauve  and  Eus- 
tacie  were  mounted  on  gay  j^alfreys  with  the  pommeled 
side-saddle  lately  invented  by  tlie  queen-mother,  Berenger, 
as  he  watched  the  fearless  horsemanship  and  graceful  bear- 
ing of  his  newly  won  wife,  had  no  si^eculations  to  spend  on 
the  thoughtful  face  of  the  admiral.  And  when  at  the  out- 
skirts of  the  wood  the  king's  bewildering  hunting-horn — 
sounding  as  it  Avere  now  here,  now  there,  now  low,  now 
high — called  every  attendant  to  hasten  to  its  summons, 
leaving  the  young  squire  and  damsel  errant  with  a  long 
winding  high-banked  lane  before  them,  they  reckoned  the 
dispersion  to  be  all  for  their  sakes,  and  did  not  note,  as  did 
Sidney's  clear  eye,  that  when  the  entire  company  had  come 
straggling  home,  it  was  the  king  who  came  up  with  Mme. 
de  Sauve  almost  the  last;  and  a  short  sjiace  after,  as  if  not 
to  ajDpear  to  have  been  with  him,  appeared  the  admiral  and 
liis  son-in-law. 

Sidney  also  missed  one  of  the  admiral's  most  trusted  at- 
tendants, and  from  this  and  other  symptoms  he  formed  his 
conclusions  that  the  king  had  scattered  his  followers  as 
much  for  the  sake  of  an  unobserved  conference  with 
Coligny  as  for  the  convenience  of  the  lovers,  and  that  let- 
ters had  been  dispatched  in  consequence  of  that  meeting. 

Those  letters  were  indeed  of  a  kind  to  change  the  face  of 
affairs  in  France.  Marshal  Strozzi,  then  commanding  in 
the  south-west,  was  bidden  to  embark  at  La  Eochelle  in  the 
last  week  of  August,  to  hasten  to  the  succor  of  the  Prince 


80  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

of  Orange  against  SjDain,  and  letters  were  dispatched  by 
Coligny  to  all  the  Huguenot  partisans  bidding  them  assem- 
ble at  Melun  on  the  3d  of  September^  when  they  would  be 
in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  courts  which  was 
bound  for  Fontainebleau.  Was  the  star  of  the  Guises 
indeed  waning?  Was  Charles  about  to  escape  from  their 
hands,  and  commit  himself  to  an  honest,  high-minded 
policy,  in  which  he  might  have  been  able  to  jjurify  his 
national  Church,  and  win  back  to  her  those  whom  her  cor- 
ruptions had  driven  to  seek  truth  and  morality  beyond  her 
pale? 

Alas!  there  Vv^as  a  bright  pair  of  eyes  that  saw  more  than 
Philip  Sidney's,  a  pair  of  ears  that  heard  more,  a  tongue 
and  pen  less  faithful  to  guard  a  secret. 


CHAPTER  VIH. 

''le    BROUILLON.'" 

But  never  more  the  same  two  sister  pearls 
Ran  down  the  silken  thread  to  kiss  each  other. 

Tennyson. 

Berenger  was  obliged  to  crave  permission  from  the  king 
to  spend  some  hours  in  riding  with  Osbert  to  the  first  hostel 
on  their  way,  to  make  arrangements  for  the  relay  of  horses 
that  was  to  meet  them  there,  and  for  the  reception  of  Vero- 
nique,  Eustacie's  maid,  who  was  to  be  sent  off  very  early 
in  the  morning  on  a  pillion  behind  Osbert,  taking  with  her 
the  articles  of  dress  that  would  be  wanted  to  change  her 
mistress  from  the  huntress  maid-of-honor  to  the  English 
dame. 

It  was  not  long  after  he  had  been  gone  that  a  sound  of 
wheels  and  trampling  horses  was  heard  in  one  of  the  forest 
drives.  Charles,  who  was  amusing  himself  with  shooting 
at  a  mark  together  with  Sidney  and  Teligny,  handed  his 
weapon  to  an  attendant,  and  came  up  with  looks  of  restless 
anxiety  to  his  queen,  who  was  i^laced  in  her  chair  under  the 
tree,  with  the  admiral  and  her  ladies  round  her,  as  judges 
of  the  prize. 

"  Here  \&  le  bro^iiUon,"  he  muttered.  "I  thought  we 
had  been  left  in  peace  too  long. " 

Elizabeth,  who  Brantome  says  was  water,  while  her  hus-- 


THE    CIIAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  81 

band  was  fire,  tried  to  murmur  some  hopeful  suggestion; 
and  poor  little  Eastacie,  claspiiig  her  hands,  could  scarcely 
refrain  from  uttering  the  cry,  "  Oh,  it  is  my  uncle!  Do 
not  let  him  take  me!'^ 

The  next  minute  there  ap]ieared  four  horses  greatly  heated 
and  jaded,  drawing  one  of  the  court  coaches;  and  as  it 
stopped  at  the  castle  gate,  two  ladies  became  visible  within 
it — the  portly  form  of  Queen  Catherine,  and  on  the  back 
seated  the  graceful  figure  of  Diane  de  Ribaumont. 

Charles  swore  a  great  oath  under  his  breath.  He  made 
a  step  forward,  but  then  his  glance  falling  on  Eustacie's 
face,  which  had  flushed  to  the  rosiest  hue  of  the  carnation, 
he  put  his  finger  upon  his  lip  with  a  menacing  air,  and 
then  advanced  to  greet  his  mother,  followed  by  his  gentle- 
men. 

"  Fear  not,  my  dear  child, ^' said  the  young  queen,  tak- 
ing Eustacie's  arm  as  she  rose  for  the  same  purpose. 
"  Obey  the  king,  and  he  will  take  care  that  all  goes  well. " 

The  gentle  Elizabeth  was,  however,  the  least  regarded 
member  of  the  royal  family.  Her  mother-in-law  liad  not 
even  waited  to  greet  her,  but  had  hurried  the  king  into  his 
cabinet,  with  a  precipitation  that  made  the  yoimg  queen's 
tender  heart  conclude  that  some  dreadful  disaster  had 
occurred,  and  before  Mile,  de  Ribaumont  had  had  time  to 
make  her  reverence,  she  exclaimed,  breathlessly,  "  Oh,  is 
it  ill  news?     Not  from  Vienna}"' 

"  No,  no,  madame;  reassure  yourself,"  replied  Diane; 
''  it  is  merely  that  her  majesty  being  on  the  way  to  Mon- 
ceaux  with  mesdames  turned  out  of  her  road  to  make  a  fly- 
ing visit  to  your  graces,  and  endeavor  to  persuade  you  to 
make  her  party  complete. " 

Elizabeth  looked  as  if  questioning  with  herself  if  this 
Would  possibly  be  the  whole  explanation.  Monceaux  was  a 
castle  belonging  to  the  queen  dowager  at  no  great  distance 
from  Montpipeau,  but  there  had  been  no  intention  of  leav- 
ing Paris  before  the  wedding,  which  was  fixed  for  the 
seventeenth  of  August,  and  the  bridegroom  was  daily  ex- 
pected. She  asked  who  was  the  party  at  Monceaux,  and 
was  told  that  Mme.  de  Nemours  had  gone  thither  the 
evening  before,  with  her  son,  M.  de  Guise,  to  make  ready, 
and  that  monsieur  was  escorting  thither  his  two  sisters, 
Mme.  de  Lorraine  and  Mme.  Marguerite.  The  queen- 
mother  had  set  out  before  them  very  early  in  the  morning. 


83  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"You  must  have  made  great  speed/'  eaicl  ElizalDeth; 
"  it  is  scarcely  two  o'clock." 

"  Truly  we  did,  madame;  two  of  our  horses  even  died 
upon  the  road;  but  the  queen  was  anxious  to  find  the  king 
ere  he  should  set  off  on  one  of  his  long  chases. " 

Diane,  at  every  spare  moment,  kejDt  her  eyes  interroga- 
tively fixed  on  her  cousin,  and  evidently  expected  that  the 
taciturn  queen,  to  whom  a  long  conversation,  in  any 
language  but  Spanish,  was  always  a  grievance,  would  soon 
dismiss  them  both;  and  Eustacie  did  not  know  whether  to 
be  thankful  or  impatient,  as  Elizabeth,  with  tardy,  hesitat- 
ing, mentally  translated  speech,  inquired  into  every  cir- 
cumstance of  the  death  of  the  poor  horses,  and  then  into 
all  the  court  gossip,  which  she  was  currently  supposed 
neither  to  hear  nor  understand;  and  then  bethought  herself 
that  this  good  Mile,  de  Ribaumont  could  teach  her  that 
embroidery  stitch  she  had  so  long  wished  to  learn.  Taking 
her  arm,  she  entered  the  hall,  and  produced  her  work,  so 
as  effectually  to  prevent  any  communication  between  the 
cousins;  Eustacie,  meanwhile  her  heart  clinging  to  her 
friend,  felt  her  eyes  filling  with  tears  at  the  thoughts  of 
how  unkind  her  morrow's  llight  would  seem  without  one 
word  of  farewell  or  of  confidence,  and  was  ah-eady  devising 
tokens  of  tenderness  to  be  left  behind  for  Diane's  consola- 
tion, when  the  door  of  the  cabinet  opened,  and  Catherine 
sailed  down  the  stairs,  with  her  peculiar  gliding  step  and 
sweep  of  dignity.  The  king  followed  her  with  a  face  of  ir- 
resolution and  distress.  He  was  evidently  under  her  dis- 
pleasure; but  she  advanced  to  the  young  queen  with  much 
graciousness,  and  an  air  of  matronly  solicitude. 

"  My  daughter,"  she  said,  "  I  have  just  assured  the  king 
that  I  can  not  leave  you  in  these  damp  forests.  I  could  not 
be  responsible  for  the  results  of  the  exposure  any  longer. 
It  is  for  him  to  make  his  own  arrangements,  but  I  brought 
my  coach  empty  on  purposes  to  transport  you  and  your 
ladies  to  Monceaux.  The  women  may  follow  with  the 
mails.  You  can  be  ready  as  soon  as  the  horses  are  har- 
nessed. ' ' 

Elizabeth  was  used  to  passiveness.  She  turned  one  in- 
quiring look  to  her  husband,  but  he  looked  sullen,  and, 
evidently  cowed  by  his  mother,  uttered  not  a  word.  She 
*ould  only  submit,  and  Catherine  herself  added  that  there 
was  room  for  Mme.  de  Sauve  and  Mile,  de  !Nid-de-Merle. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF     I'EAKLS.  83 

Mme.  la  Comtesse  should  follow!  It  was  self-evident  that 
j^ropriety  would  not  admit  of  the  only  demoiselle  being  left 
behind  among  the  gentlemen.  Poor  Eustacie,  she  looked 
mutely  round  as  if  she  ho23ed  to  escape!  AVhat  was  the 
other  unkindness  to  this?  And  ever  under  the  eyes  of 
Diane  too,  who  followed  her  to  their  chamber,  when  she 
went  to  prepare,  so  that  she  could  not  even  leave  a  token 
for  him  where  he  would  have  been  most  certain  to  find  it. 
Moments  were  few;  but  at  the  very  last,  while  the  queens 
were  being  handed  in  the  carriage,  she  caught  the  eye  of 
Philip  Sidney,  lie  saw  the  appealing  look,  and  came  near. 
She  tried  to  laugh.  "  Here  is  my  gage.  Monsieur  Sidney,'^ 
she  said,  and  held  out  a  rose-colored  knot  of  ribbon;  then, 
as  he  came  near  enough,  she  whispered  imploringly  three 
of  her  few  English  words — 

''Giye  to  hi)))." 

"  I  take  the  gage  as  it  is  meant,"  said  Sidney,  putting  a 
knee  to  the  ground,  and  kissing  the  trembling  fingers,  ere 
he  handed  her  into  the  carriage.  He  smiled  and  waved  his 
hand  as  he  met  her  earnest  eyes.  One  bow  contained  a 
scrap  of  paper  pricked  with  needle-holes.  Sidney  woidd 
not  have  made  out  those  pricks  for  the  whole  world,  even 
had  he  been  able  to  do  more  than  hastily  secure  the  token, 
before  the  unhappy  king,  with  a  paroxysm  of  violent  inter- 
jections, demanded  of  him  Avhether  the  Queen  of  England, 
woman  though  she  were,  ever  were  so  beset,  and  never 
allowed  a  moment  to  herself;  then,  without  giving  time  for 
an  answer,  he  flung  away  to  his  cabinet,  and  might  be  heard 
pacing  up  and  down  there  in  a  tempest  of  perplexity.  He 
came  forth  only  to  order  his  horse,  and  desire  M.  de  Sauve 
and  a  few  grooms  to  be  ready  instantly  to  ride  with  him. 
His  face  was  full  of  pitiable  perj)lexity — the  smallest  ob- 
stacle was  met  with  a  savage  oath;  and  he  was  evidently  in 
all  the  misery  of  a  weak  yet  passionate  nature,  struggling 
with  impotent  violence  against  a  yoke  that  evidently  mas- 
tered it. 

He  flung  a  word  to  his  guests  that  he  should  return  ere 
night,  and  they  thus  perceived  that  he  did  not  intend  their 
dismissal. 

"  Poor  youth,"  said  C'oligny,  mildly,  "  he  will  be 
another  being  when  we  have  him  in  our  camp  with  the 
King  of  Navarre  for  his  coni2:)auion." 

And  then  the  admiral  repaired  to  his  chamber  to  write 


84  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

one  of  his  many  fond  letters  to  the  young  wife  of  his  old 
age;  while  his  son-in-law  and  Philip  Sidney  agreed  to  ride 
on,  so  as  to  meet  jooor  young  Eibaumont,  and  prepare  him 
for  the  blow  that  had  befallen  him  personally,  while  they 
anxiously  debated  what  this  sudden  descent  of  the  queen- 
mother  might  portend.  Teligny  was  ready  to  believe  in 
any  evil  intention  on  her  joart,  but  he  thought  himself  cer- 
tain of  the  king^s  real  sentiments,  and  in  truth  Charles  had 
never  treated  any  man  with  such  confidence  as  this  young 
Huguenot  noble,  to  whom  he  had  told  his  opinion  of  each 
of  his  counselors,  and  his  complete  distrust  of  all.  That 
pitying  affection  which  clings  to  those  who  cling  to  it,  as 
well  as  a  true  French  loyalty  of  heart,  made  Teligny  fully 
believe  that  however  Catherine  might  struggle  to  regain 
her  ascendency,  and  whatever  apjjarent  relapses  might  be 
caused  by  Charles's  habitual  subjection  to  her,  yet  the  high 
aspirations  and  strong  sense  of  justice  inherent  in  the  king 
were  asserting  themselves  as  his  youth  was  passing  into 
manhood;  and  that  the  much  desired  war  would  enable 
him  to  develojD  all  his  higher  qualities.  Sidney  listened, 
partially  agreed,  talked  of  caution,  and  mused  within  him- 
self whether  violence  might  not  sometimes  be  mistaken  for 
vigor. 

Ere  long,  the  merry  cadence  of  an  old  English  song  fell 
with  a  home-like  sound  upon  Sidney's  ear,  and  in  another 
moment  they  were  in  sight  of  Berenger,  trotting  joyously 
along,  with  a  bouquet  of  crimson  and  white  heather- 
blossoms  in  his  hand,  and  his  bright  young  face  full  of  ex- 
ultation in  his  arrangements.  He  shouted  gayly  as  he  saw 
them,  calling  out,  "  I  thought  I  should  meet  you!  but  I 
wondered  not  to  have  heard  the  king's  bugle-horn.  Where 
are  the  rest  of  the  hunters?" 

"  Unfortunately  we  have  had  another  sort  of  hunt  to- 
day,'^ said  Sidney,  who  had  ridden  forward  to  meet  him; 
"  and  one  that,  I  fear,  will  disquiet  you  greatly. '^ 

"  How!     Not  her  uncle?"  exclaimed  Berenger. 

•'  No,  cheer  ujj,  my  friend,  it  was  not  she  who  was  the 
object  of  the  chase;  it  was  this  unlucky  king,"  he  added, 
speaking  English,  *'  who  has  been  run  to  earth  by  his 
mother.  ■" 

"  Nay,  but  what  is  that  to  me?"  said  Berenger,  with  im- 
patient superiority  to  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  "  How  does 
it  touch  us?'' 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  85 

Sidney  related  the  abstraction  of  the  young  queen  and 
her  hidies,  and  then  handed  over  the  rose-colored  token, 
which  Berenger  took  with  vehement  ardor;  then  his  feat- 
nres  quivered  as  he  read  the  needlc-i^ricked  words — two 
that  he  had  playfully  insisted  on  her  speaking  and  sjielling 
after  him  in  his  adopted  tongue,  then  not  vulgarized,  but 
the  tenderest  hi  the  language,  "  Sweet  heart."  That  was 
all,  but  to  him  they  conveyed  constancy  to  him  and  his, 
whatever  might  betide,  and  an  entreaty  not  to  leave  her  to 
her  fate. 

"My  dearest!  never!''  he  muttered;  then  turning  hastily 
as  he  put  the  precious  token  into  his  bosom,  he  exclaimed, 
"  Are  their  women  yet  gone?"  and  being  assured  that  they 
were  not  departed  when  the  two  friends  had  set  out,  he 
pushed  his  horse  on  at  speed,  so  as  to  be  able  to  send  a  re- 
ply by  Veronique.  He  was  barely  in  time:  the  clumsy 
wagon-like  conveyance  of  the  waiting-women  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  castle,  in  course  of  being  packed  with  the 
queen's  wardrobe,  amid  the  janglings  of  lackeys,  and  ex- 
230stulating  cries  oifcmmes  de  cliambre,  all  in  the  worst 
possible  humor  at  being  crowded  up  with  their  natural  ene- 
mies, the  household  of  the  queen-mother. 

Veronique,  a  round-faced  Angevin  girl — who,  like  her 
lady,  had  not  parted  with  all  her  rustic  simjalicity  and  hon- 
esty, and  who  had  been  necessarily  taken  into  their  confi- 
dence— was  standing  apart  from  the  wliirl  of  confusion, 
holding  the  leashes  of  two  or  three  little  dogs  that  had  been 
confided  to  her  care,  that  their  keepers  misfht  with  more 
ease  throw  themselves  into  the  meUe.  Her  face  lighted  up 
as  she  saw  the  Baron  de  Ribaumont  arrive. 

"Ah,  sir,  madame  will  be  so  happy  that  I  have  seen 
monsieur  once  more,"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath,  as 
he  approached  her. 

"  Alas!  there  is  not  a  moment  to  write,"  he  said,  look- 
ing at  the  veliicle,  already  fast  filling,  "  but  give  her  these 
flowers;  they  were  gathered  for  her;  give  her  ten  thousand 
thanks  for  her  token.  Tell  her  to  hold  firm,  and  that 
neither  king  nor  queen,  bolt  nor  bar,  shall  keep  me  from 
her.     Tell  her,  our  watchword  is  hope. " 

The  sharp  eyes  of  the  duenna  of  the  queen's  household, 
a  rigid  Spanish  dame,  were  already  searching  for  stray 
members  of  her  flock,  and  Veronique  had  to  hurry  to  her 
place,  while  Berenger  remained  to  hatch  new  plans,  eacli 


86  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

wilder  than  the  last,  and  torment  himself  with  guessed 
whether  his  project  had  been  discovered.  Indeed,  there 
were  moments  when  he  fancied  tlie  frustration  of  his  pur- 
pose the  special  object  of  Queen  Catherine's  journey,  but 
lie  had  the  wisdom  to  keep  any  such  suggestion  to  himself. 

The  king  came  back  by  su2:)per-time,  looking  no  longer 
in  a  state  of  indecision,  but  pale  and  morose.  He  spoke  to 
no  one  as  he  entered,  and  afterward  took  his  place  at  the 
head  of  the  supjoer-table  in  silence,  wliich  he  did  not  break 
till  the  meal  was  nearly  over.  Then  he  said  abruptly, 
"  Gentlemen,  our  party  has  been  broken  up,  and  I  imagine 
that  after  our  great  hunt  to-morrow,  no  one  will  have  any 
objection  to  return  to  Paris.  We  shall  have  merrier  sport 
at  Fontainebleau  when  this  most  troublesome  of  weddings 
is  over. " 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  bow  acquiescence, 
and  the  king  again  became  grimly  silent.  After  supper  he 
challenged  Coligny  to  a  game  of  chess,  and  not  a  word 
passed  during  the  protracted  contest,  either  from  the  com- 
batants or  any  other  person  in  the  hall.  It  was  as  if  the 
light  had  suddenly  gone  out  to  others  besides  the  disap- 
pointed and  anxious  Berenger,  and  a  dull  shadow  had  fall- 
en on  the  place  only  yesterday  so  lively,  joyous,  and  hope- 
ful. 

Berenger,  chained  by  the  etiquette  of  the  royal  pres- 
ence, sat  like  a  statue,  his  back  against  the  wall,  his  arms 
crossed  on  his  breast,  his  eyes  fixed,  chewing  the  cud  of  the 
memories  of  his  dream  of  bliss,  or  striving  to  frame  the 
future  to  his  will,  and  to  decide  what  w^as  the  next  reason- 
able step  he  could  take,  or  whether  his  irrejiressible  longing 
to  ride  straight  off  to  Monceaux,  claim  his  wife,  and  take 
her  on  horseback  behind  him,  were  a  mere  impracticable 
vision. 

The  king,  having  been  checkmated  twice  out  of  three 
times  by  the  admiral,  too  honest  a  man  not  truly  to  accept 
his  declaration  of  not  wanting  courtly  play,  pushed  away 
the  board,  and  was  attended  by  them  all  to  his  coucher, 
which  was  usually  made  in  public;  and  the  queen  being  ab- 
sent, the  gentlemen  w^ere  required  to  stand  around  him  till 
he  was  ready  to  fall  asleep.  He  did  not  seem  disposed  to 
talk,  but  begged  Sidney  to  fetch  his  lute,  and  sing  to  him 
some  English  airs  that  had  taken  his  fancy  much  when 
sung  by  Sidney  and  Berenger  together. 


(THE    CHAPLF.T    OP    PEAHLS.  87 

Berenger  felt  as  if  they  would  choke  him  in  his  present 
turbid  state  of  resentful  uncertainty;  but  even  as  the  un- 
happy young  king  spoke,  it  was  with  a  heavy,  restless 
groan,  as  he  added,  "  If  you  know  any  lullaby  that  will 
give  rest  to  a  wretch  tormented  beyond  bearing,  let  us 
have  it. " 

"Alas,  sire!"  said  the  admiral,  seeing  that  no  perilous 
ears  remained  in  the  room;  "  there  are  better  and  more 
soothing  words  than  any  mundane  melody/^ 

^''  Peste!  My  good  father,'^  said  the  king  petulantly, 
"  has  not  old  Phli2:)ote,  my  nurse,  rocked  me  to  the  sound 
of  your  Marot^s  Psalms,  and  croonQji  her  texts  over  me?  I 
tell  you  I  do  not  want  to  think.  I  want  what  will  drive 
thought  away — to  dull — " 

"  Alas!  what  dulls  slays,"  said  the  admiral. 

"  Let  it.  Nothing  can  be  worse  than  the  present,"  said 
the  wretched  Charles;  then,  as  if  wishing  to  break  away 
from  Coligny,  he  threw  himself  round  toward  Berenger, 
and  said,  "  Here;  stoop  down,  Ribaumont;  a  word  with 
you.  Your  matters  have  gone  uj:)  the  mountains,  as  the 
Italians  say,  with  mine.  But  never  fear.  Keep  silence, 
and  you  shall  htive  the  bird  i\\  your  hand,  only  you  must  be 
patient.  Hold!  I  will  make  you  and  Monsieur  Sidney 
gentlemen  of  my  bed-chamber,  which  will  give  you  the 
entree  of  the  Louvre;  and  if  you  can  not  get  her  out  of  it 
without  an  eclat,  then  you  must  be  a  much  duller  fellow 
than  half  my  court.  Only  that  it  is  not  their  own  wives 
that  they  abstract. " 

With  this  Berenger  must  needs  content  himself;  and  the 
certainty  of  the  poor  king's  good  will  did  enable  him  to  do 
his  part  with  Sidney  in  the  songs  that  endeavored  to  soothe 
the  torments  of  the  evil  spirit  which  had  on  that  day 
effected  a  fresh  lodgment  in  that  weak,  unwilling  heart. 

It  was  not  till  the  memoirs  of  the  secret  actors  in  this 
tragedy  were  brought  to  light  that  the  key  to  these  doings 
was  discovered.  M.  de  Sauve,  Charles's  secretary,  had  dis- 
closed his  proceedings  to  his  wife;  she,  flattered  by  the  at- 
tentions of  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  betrayed  thexn  to  him;  and 
the  queen-mother,  terrified  at  the  change  of  policy,  and  the 
loss  of  the  power  she  had  enjoyed  for  so  many  years,  had 
hurried  to  the  spot. 

Her  influence  over  her  son  resembled  the  fascination  of  a 
suake;  once  "within  her  reach  he  was  unable  to  resist  her; 


88  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS. 

and  when  in  their  tete-a-tete  she  reproached  him  with  ill- 
faith  toward  her,  prophesied  the  overthrow  of  the  Church, 
the  desertion  of  his  allies,  the  ruin  of  his  throne,  and  finally 
announced  her  intention  of  hiding  her  head  in  her  own 
hereditary  estates  in  Auvergne,  begging,  as  a  last  favor, 
that  he  would  give  his  brother  time  to  quit  France  instead 
of  involving  him  in  his  own  ruin,  the  poor  young  man^s 
whole  soul  was  in  commotion.  His  mother  knew  her 
strength,  left  the  poison  to  work,  and  withdrew  in  displeas- 
ure to  Monceaux,  sure  that,  as  in  elfect  haj^pened,  he  would 
not  be  long  in  following  her,  im25loring  her  not  to  abandon 
him,  and  making  an  unconditional  surrender  of  himself,  his 
conscience,  and  his  friends  into  her  hands.  Duplicity  was 
60  entirely  the  element  of  the  court,  that,  even  while  thus 
yielding  himself,  it  was  as  one  checked,  but  continuing  the 
game;  he  still  continued  his  connection  with  the  Hugue- 
nots, hoping  to  succeed  in  his  aims  by  some  future  counter- 
intrigue;  and  his  real  hatred  of  the  court  i^olicy,  and  the 
genuine  desire  to  make  common  cause  tvith  them,  served 
his  motlier\s  jjurpose  comjjletely,  since  his  cajolery  thus  be- 
came sincere.  Her  purpose  was,  jDi'obably,  not  yet  formed. 
It  was  power  that  she  loved,  and  ho23ed  to  secure  by  the 
intrigues  she  had  played  off  all  her  life;  but  she  herself  was 
in  the  hands  of  an  infinitely  more  blood-thirsty  and  zealous 
faction,  who  couli  easily  accomplish  their  ends  by  working 
on  the  womanly  terrors  of  an  unscrupulous  mind. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  WEDDING    WITH   CRIMSON    PAYORS. 

And  trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all. 

Tennyson. 

So  extensive  was  the  Louvre,  so  widely  separated  the 
different  suites  of  apartments,  tbat  Diane  and  Eustacie  had 
not  met  after  the  pall-mall  party  till,  they  sat  opposite  to 
their  several  queens  in  the  coach  driving  through  the  wood, 
the  elder  cousin  curiously  watching  the  eyes  of  the  younger, 
so  wistfully  gazing  at  the  window,  and  now  and  then  rap- 
idly winking  as  though  to  force  back  a  rebellious  tear. 

The  cousins  had  been  bred  up  together  in  the  convent  at 
Bellaise,  and  had  only  been  separated  by  Diane's  having 


TIJE    CTTAPLET    OF    J'EAKLS.  89 

been  brought  to  court  two  years  sooner  than  Eustacie. 
They  had  always  been  on  very  kindly,  affectionate  terms: 
Diane  treating  her  little  cousin  with  the  patronage  of  an 
elder  sister,  and  greatly  contributing  to  shield  her  from  the 
temptations  of  the  court.  The  elder  cousin  was  so  much 
the  more  handsome,  brilliant,  and  admired,  that  no  notion 
of  rivalry  had  crossed  her  mind;  and  Eustacie 's  inherit- 
ance was  regarded  by  her  as  reserved  for  her  brother,  and 
the  means  of  aggrandizement  and  prosperity  for  herself  and 
her  father.  !She  looked  upon  the  child  as  a  sort  of  piece  of 
property  of  the  family,  to  be  guarded  and  watched  over  for 
her  brother;  and  when  she  had  first  discovered  the  error 
that  the  young  baron  was  making  between  the  two  daugh- 
ters of  the  house,  it  was  partly  in  kindness  to  Eustacie, 
partly  to  carry  out  her  father's  plans,  and  partly  from  her 
own  pleasure  in  conversing  with  anything  so  candid  and 
fresh  as  Berenger,  that  she  had  maintained  the  delusion. 
Her  father  believed  himself  to  have  placed  Berenger  so  en- 
tirely in  the  background,  that  he  would  hardly  be  at  court 
long  enough  to  discover  the  imposition;  and  Diane  was  not 
devoid  of  a  strong  liojae  of  winnmg  his  affection  and  bending 
his  will  so  as  to  induce  him  to  become  her  husband,  and 
become  a  French  courtier  for  her  sake — a  wild  dream,  but 
a  better  castle  in  the  air  than  she  had  ever  yet  indulged  in. 
This  arrangement  was,  however,  disconcerted  by  the 
king's  passion  for  Sidney's  society,  which  brought  young 
Eibaumont  also  to  court;  and  at  the  time  of  the  mischiev- 
ous introduction  by  Mme.  Marguerite,  Diane  had  perceived 
that  the  mistake  would  soon  be  found  out,  and  that  she 
should  no  longer  be  able  to  amuse  herself  with  the  fresh- 
colored,  open-faced  boy  who  was  so  unlike  all  her  former 
acquaintance;  but  the  magnetism  that  shows  a  woman 
when  she  produces  an  effect  had  been  exiaerienced  by  her, 
and  she  had  been  sure  that  a  few  efforts  more  would  warm 
and  mold  the  wax  in  her  fingers.  That  he  should  jd refer  a 
little  brown  thing,  whose  beauty  was  so  inferior  to  her  own, 
had  never  crossed  her  mind ;  she  did  not  even  know  that  he 
was  invited  to  the  pall-mall  party,  and  was  greatly  taken  by 
surprise  when  her  father  sought  an  interview  with  her,  ac- 
cused her  of  betraying  their  interests,  and  told  her  that  this 
foolish  yoimg  fellow  declared  that  he  had  been  mistaken, 
and  having  now  discovered  liis  veritable  wife^  protested 
against  resigning  her. 


Do  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

By  that  time  the  whole  party  were  gone  to  Montpipeau, 
but  that  the  baron  was  among  them  was  not  known  at  the 
Louvre  until  Queen  Catherine^,  who  had  always  treated 
Diane  as  rather  a  favored,  quick-witted  protegee,  com- 
manded her  attendance,  and  on  her  Avay  let  her  know  that 
Mme.  de  Sauve  had  reported  that,  among  all  the  follies 
that  were  being  perpetrated  at  tlie  hunting-seat,  the  young 
queen  was  absolutely  throwing  the  little  Nid-de-Merle  into 
the  arms  of  her  Huguenot  husband,  and  that  if  measures 
were  not  promptly  taken  all  the  great  estates  in  the  Bocage 
would  be  lost  to  the  young  chevalier,  and  be  carried  over 
to  the  Huguenot  interest. 

Still  Diane  could  not  believe  that  it  was  so  much  a  mat- 
ter of  love  as  that  the  youth  had  begun  to  relish  court  fa- 
vor and  to  value  the  inheritance,  and  she  could  quite  be- 
lieve her  little  cousin  had  been  flattered  by  a  few  attentions 
that  had  no  meaning  in  them.  She  was  not  prepared  to 
find  that  Eustacie  shrunk  from  her,  and  tried  to  avoid  a 
private  interview.  In  truth,  the  poor  child  had  received 
such  injunctions  from  the  queen,  and  so  stern  a  warning 
look  from  the  king,  that  she  durst  not  utter  a  syllable  of 
the  evening  that  had  sealed  her  lot,  and  was  so  hajij^y  with 
her  secret,  so  used  to  tell  evei'ything  to  Diane,  so  longing 
to  talk  of  her  husband,  that  she  was  afraid  of  betraying 
herself  if  once  they  were  alone  together.  Yet  Diane, 
knowing  that  her  father  trusted  to  her  to  learn  how  far 
things  had  gone,  and  piqued  at  seeing  the  transparent  lit- 
tle creature,  now  glowing  and  smiling  with  inward  bliss, 
now  pale,  pensive,  sighing,  and  anxious,  and  scorning  her 
as  too  childish  for  the  love  that  she  seemed  to  affect,  was 
resolved  on  obtaining  confidence  from  her. 

And  when  the  whole  female  court  had  sat  down  to  the 
silk  embroidery  in  which  Catherine  de  Medicis  excelled, 
Diane  seated  herself  in  the  recess  of  a  window  and  beck- 
oned her  cousin  to  her  side,  so  that  it  was  not  jDOSsible  to 
disobey. 

"  Little  one,"  she  said,  "  why  have  you  cast  off  your 
poor  cousin?  There,  sit  down  " — for  Eustacie  stood,  with 
her  silk  in  her  hand,  as  if  meaning  instantly  to  return  to 
her  former  place;  and  now,  her  cheeks  in  a  flame,  she  an- 
swered in  an  indignant  whisper,  "  You  know,  Diane!  How 
could  you  try  to  keep  him  from  me?'' 

"  Because  it  was  better  for  thee,  my  child,  than  to  be 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  91 

pestered  with  an  adventurer/'  she  said,  smihng,  though 
bitterly. 

"  My  husband!"  returned  Eustacie  proudly. 

"Bah!  You  know  better  than  that!"  Then,  as  Eus- 
tacie was  about  to  speak,  but  checked  herself,  Diane  added, 
"  Yes,  my  jDOor  friend,  he  has  a  something  engaging  about 
him,  and  we  all  would  have  hindered  you  from  tlie  pain 
and  embarrassment  of  a  meeting  with  him/' 

Eustacie  smiled  a  little  saucy  smile,  as  though  infinitely 
superior  to  them  all. 

*'  Fauvre 2)eiite,^'  said  Diane,  nettled;  "  she  actually  be- 
lieves in  liis  love." 

"I  will  not  hear  a  word  against  my  husband!"  said 
Eustacie,  stepping  back,  as  if  to  return  to  her  place,  but 
Diane  rose  and  laid  her  hand  on  hers.  "  My  dear,"  she 
said,  "  we  must  not  i)art  thus.  I  only  wish  to  know  what 
touches  my  darling  so  nearly.  I  thought  she  loved  and 
clung  to  us;  why  should  she  have  turned  from  me  for  the 
sake  of  one  who  forgot  her  for  half  his  life?  "What  can  he 
have  done  to  master  this  silly  little  heart?" 

"  I  can  not  tell  you,  Diane,"  said  Eustacie  simply;  and 
though  she  looked  down,  the  color  on  her  face  Avas  more  of 
a  hap23y  glow  than  a  conscious  blush.  "I  love  him  too 
much;  only  we  understand  each  other  now,  and  it  is  of  no 
use  to  try  to  separate  us. " 

"  Ah,  poor  little  thing,  so  she  thinks,"  said  Diane;  and 
as  Eustacie  again  smiled  as  one  incapable  of  being  shaken 
in  her  conviction,  she  added,  "  And  how  do  you  know  that 
he  loves  you?" 

Diane  was  startled  by  the  bright  eyes  that  flashed  on  her 
and  the  bright  color  that  made  Eustacie  perfectly  beauti- 
ful, as  sbe  answered,  ' '  Because  I  am  liis  wife !  That  is 
enough!"  Then,  before  her  cousin  could  speak  again, 
"  But,  Diane,  I  promised  not  to  speak  of  it.  I  know  he 
would  despise  mo  if  I  broke  my  word,  so  I  will  not  talk  to 
you  till  I  have  leave  to  tell  you  all,  and  I  am  going  back  to 
help  Gabrielle  de  Limeuil  with  her  shejDlierdess. " 

Mile,  de  Eibaumont  felt  her  attempt  most  unsatisfac- 
tory, but  she  knew  of  old  that  Eustacie  was  very  determined 
— all  Bellaise  knew  that  to  ojjpose  the  tiny  baronne  w^as  to 
make  her  headstrong  in  her  resolution;  and  if  she  sus- 
pected that  she  was  coaxed,  she  only  became  more  obsti- 
nate.   To  make  any  discoveries;  Diane  must  take  the  line  of 


92  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEA  ELS. 

most  cautious  caresses,  such  as  to  throw  her  cousin  off'  her 
guard;  and  this  she  was  forced  to  confess  to  her  father 
when  he  sought  an  interview  with  her  on  the  day  of  her 
return  to  Paris.  He  shook  his  head.  "  She  must  be  on 
the  watch/' he  said,  and  get  quickly  into  the  silly  girl's 
confidence.  What!  had  she  not  found  out  that  the  young 
villain  had  been  on  the  point  of  eloping  with  her?  If  such 
a  thing  as  that  should  succeed,  the  whole  family  was  lost, 
and  she  was  the  only  person  who  could  prevent  it.  He 
trusted  to  her. 

The  chevalier  had  evidently  come  to  regard  his  niece  as 
his  son's  lawful  property,  and  the  baron  as  the  troublesome 
meddler;  and  Diane  had  much  the  same  feeling,  enhanced 
by  sore  jealousy  at  Eustacie's  triumpli  over  her,  and  curi- 
osity as  to  whether  it  could  be  indeed  well  founded.  She 
had  an  opportunity  of  judging  the  same  evening — mere 
habit  always  causecl  Eustacie  to  keep  under  her  wing,  if  she 
could  not  be  near  the  queen,  whenever  there  was  a  recep- 
tion, and  to  that  recej^tion  of  course  Berenger  came,  armed 
with  his  right  as  gentleman  of  the  bed-chamber.  Eustacie 
was  coloring  and  fluttering,  as  if  by  the  instinct  of  his  pres- 
ence, even  before  the  tall  fair  head  became  visible,  moving 
forward  as  well  as  the  crowd  would  permit,  and  seeking 
about  with  anxious  eyes.  The  glances  of  the  blue  and  the 
black  eyes  met  at  last,  and  a  satisfied  radiance  illuminated 
each  youug  face;  then  the  young  man  steered  his  way 
through  the  throng,  but  was  caught  midway  by  Coligny, 
and  led  up  to  be  presented  to  a  hook-nosed,  dark-haired, 
lively-looking  young  man,  in  a  suit  of  black  richly  laced 
with  silver.  It  was  the  King  of  Navarre,  the  royal  bride- 
groom, who  had  entered  Paris  in  state  that  afternoon. 
Eustacie  tried  to  be  jjroud  of  the  preferment,  but  oh!  she 
thought  it  mistimed,  and  was  gratified  to  mark  certain  wan- 
derings of  the  eye  even  while  the  gracious  king  was  speak- 
ing. Then  tlie  admiral  said  something  that  brought  the 
girlish  rosy  flush  ujj  to  the  very  roots  of  the  short  curls  of 
flaxen  hair,  and  made  the  young  king's  white  teeth  flash 
out  in  a  mirthful,  good-natured  laugh,  and  thereupon  the 
way  opened,  and  Berenger  was  beside  the  two  ladies,  kiss- 
ing Eustacie's  hand,  but  merely  bowing  to  Diane. 

She  was  ready  to  take  the  initiative. 

"  My  cousins  deem  me  unpardonable/''  she  said;  "  yet  I 
am  going  to  purchase  their  pardon.     See  this  cabinet  of 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  93 

porcelain  a  la  Eeine,  and  Italian  vases  and  gems,  beliiiul 
this  curtain.  There  is  all  the  siege  of  Troy,  which  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron  will  no  doubt  exj)lain  to  mademoiselle,  while 
I  shall  sit  on  this  cushion,  and  endure  the  siege  of  St. 
Queutin  from  the  hou  Sieur  de  Selinville.''^ 

M.  de  Selinville  was  the  court  bore,  who  had  been  in 
every  battle  from  Pavia  to  Montcontour,  and  gave  as  full 
memoirs  of  each  as  did  Blaise  de  Monluc,  only  vivci  voce  in- 
stead of  in  writing.  Diane  was  rather  a  favorite  of  his;  she 
knew  her  way  through  all  his  adventures.  So  soon  as  she 
had  heard  the  description  of  the  King  of  Navarre's  entry 
into  Paris  that  afternoon,  and  the  old  gentleman's  lamen- 
tation that  his  own  two  ne]:)hews  were  among  the  three 
hundred  Huguenot  gentlemen  who  had  formed  the  escort, 
she  had  only  to  observe  whether  his  reminiscences  had 
gone  to  Italy  or  to  Flanders  in  order  to  be  able  to  put  in 
the  appropriate  remarks  at  each  pause,  while  she  listened 
all  the  while  to  the  murmurs  behind  the  curtain.  Yet  it 
was  not  easy,  with  all  her  court-breeding,  to  appear  in- 
different, and  solely  absorbed  in  hearing  of  the  bad  lodg- 
ings that  had  fallen  to  the  share  of  the  royal  trooj^s  at  Bres- 
cia, when  such  sounds  were  reaching  her.  It  was  not  so 
much  the  actual  words  she  heard,  though  these  were  the 
phrases — "  mon  angc,  my  heart,  my  love;"  those  were 
common,  and  Diane  had  lived  in  the  queen-mother's  squad- 
ron long  enough  to  despise  those  who  uttered  them  only 
less  than  those  who  believed  them.  It  was  the  full  depth  of 
tenderness  and  earnestness,  in  the  subdued  tones  of  the 
voice,  that  gave  her  a  sense  of  quiet  force  and  reality  be- 
yond all  she  had  ever  known.  She  had  heard  and  overheard 
men  pour  out  frantic  ravings  of  passion,  but  never  had 
listened  to  anything  like  the  sweet  protecting  tenderness 
of  voice  that  seemed  to  embrace  and  shelter  its  object. 
Diane  had  no  doubts  now;  he  had  never  so  spoken  to  her; 
nay,  j^erhaps  he  had  had  no  such  cadences  in  his  voice  be- 
fore. It  was  quite  certain  that  Eustacie  was  everythhig  to 
him,  she  herself  nothing;  she  who  might  have  had  any  gal- 
lant in  the  court  at  her  feet,  but  had  never  seen  one  whom 
she  could  believe  in,  whose  sense  of  esteem  had  been  first 
awakened  by  this  stranger  lad  who  despised  her.  Surely 
he  was  loving  this  foolish  child  simply  as  his  duty;  his  be- 
longing, as  his  right  he  might  struggle  hard  for  her,  and  if 
he  gained  her^be  greatly  disappointed;  for  how  could  Eus- 


94  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

tacie  appreciate  him,  little  empty-headed,  silly  thing,  who 
would  be  amused  and  satisfied  by  any  court  flatterer? 

However,  Diane  held  out  and  played  her  part,  caught 
scraps  of  the  conversation,  and  pieced  them  together,  yet 
avoided  all  appearance  of  inattention  to  M.  de  Selinville, 
and  finally  dismissed  him,  and  maneuvered  first  Eustacie, 
and  after  a  safe  interval  Berenger,  out  of  the  cabinet.  The 
latter  bowed  as  he  bade  her  good-night,  and  said,  with  the 
most  open  and  cordial  of  smiles,  "  Cousin,  I  thank  you 
with  all  my  heart. ' ' 

The  bright  look  seemed  to  her  another  shaft.  "  What 
happiness!"  said  she  to  herself.  "  Can  I  overthrow  it? 
Bah!  it  will  crumble  of  its  own  accord,  even  if  I  did  noth- 
ing!    And  my  father  and  brother!" 

Communication  with  her  father  and  brother  was  not  al- 
ways easy  to  Diane,  for  she  lived  among  the  queen- 
mother's  ladies.  Her  brother  was  quartered  in  a  sort  of 
barrack  among  the  gentlemen  of  Monsieur's  suite,  and  the 
old  chevalier  was  living  in  the  room  Berenger  had  taken 
for  him  at  the  Croix  de  Lorraine,  and  it  was  only  on  the 
most  public  days  that  they  attended  at  the  palace.  Such 
a  day,  however,  there  was  on  the  ensuing  Sunday,  when 
Henry  of  Navarre  and  Marguerite  of  France  were  to  be 
wedded.  Their  dispensation  was  come,  but,  to  the  great 
relief  of  Eustacie,  there  was  no  answer  with  it  to  the  ap- 
plication for  the  cassation  of  her  marriage.  In  fact,  this  dis- 
pensation had  never  emanated  from  the  Pojdc  at  all.  Rome 
would  not  sanction  the  union  of  a  daughter  of  France  with 
a  Huguenot  prince;  and  Charles  had  forged  the  document, 
probably  with  his  mother's  knowledge,  in  the  hope  of 
spreading  her  toils  more  completely  round  her  jirey,  while 
he  trusted  that  the  victims  might  prove  too  strong  for  her, 
and  destroy  her  web,  and  in  breaking  forth  might  release 
himself. 

Strange  was  the  pageant  of  that  wedding  on  Sunday,  the 
17th  of  August,  1573.  The  outward  seeming  was  mag- 
nificent, when  all  that  was  princely  in  France  stood  on  the 
splendidly  decked  platform  in  front  of  Notre  Dame,  around 
the  bridegroom  in  the  bright  promise  of  his  kingly  endow- 
ments, and  the  bride  in  her  peerless  beauty.  Brave,  noble- 
hearted,  and  devoted  were  the  gallant  following  of  the  one, 
splendid  and  highly  gifted  the  attendants  of  the  other;  and 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  95 

their  union  seemed  to  promise  peace  to  a  long-distracted 
kingdom. 

Yet  what  an  abyss  lay  beneath  those  trappings!  The 
bridegroom  and  his  comrades  were  as  lions  in  the  toils  of 
the  hunter,  and  the  lure  that  had  enticed  them  thither  was 
the  bride  herself  so  unwilling  a  victim  that  her  lips  refused 
to  utter  the  espousal  vows,  and  her  head  was  forced  for- 
ward by  her  brother  into  a  sign  of  consent;  whde  the  fa- 
vored lover  of  her  whole  life-time  agreed  to  the  sacrifice  in 
order  to  purchase  the  vengeance  for  which  he  thirsted,  and 
her  mother,  the  corrupter  of  her  own  children,  looked  com- 
placently on  at  her  ready-dug  pit  of  treachery  and  blood- 
shed. 

Among  the  many  who  played  unconscious  on  the  surface 
of  that  gulf  of  destruction,  were  the  young  creatures  whose 
chief  thought  in  the  pageant  was  the  glance  and  smile 
from  the  gallery  of  the  queen  ^s  ladies  to  the  long  procession 
of  the  English  embassador's  train,  as  they  tried  to  remem- 
ber their  own  marriage  there;  Berenger  with  clear  recollec- 
tion of  his  father's  grave,  anxious  face,  and  Eustacie  chiefly 
remembering  her  own  white  satin  and  turquois  dress, 
"which  indeed  she  had  seen  on  every  great  festival-day  as 
the  best  raiment  of  the  image  of  Notre  Dame  de  Eellaise. 
She  remained  in  the  choir  during  mass,  but  Berenger  ac- 
companied the  rest  of  the  Protestants  with  the  bridegroom 
at  their  head  into  the  nave,  where  Coligny  beguiled  the 
time  with  walking  about,  looking  at  the  banners  that  had 
been  taken  from  himself  and  Conde  at  Montcontour  and 
Jarnac,  saying  that  he  hoped  soon  to  see  them  taken  down 
and  replaced  by  Spanish  banners.  Berenger  had  followed, 
because  he  felt  the  need  of  doing  as  Walsingham  and  Sid- 
ney thought  right,  but  he  had  not  been  in  London  long- 
enough  to  become  hardened  to  the  desecration  of  churches 
by  frequenting  "  Paul's  Walk."  He  remained  bare-headed, 
and  stood  as  near  as  he  could  to  the  choir,  listening  to  the 
notes  that  floated  from  the  priests  and  acolytes  at  the  high 
altar,  longing  for  the  time  when  he  and  Eustacie  should  be 
one  in  their  prayers,  and  lost  in  a  reverie,  till  a  grave  old 
nobleman  passing  near  him  rejjroved  him  for  dallying  with 
the  worship  of  Rimmou.  But  this  listening  attitude  had  not 
passed  unobserved  by  others  besides  Huguenot  observers. 

The  wedding  was  followed  by  a  ball  at  the  Louvre,  from 
which,  however,  all  the  stricter  Huguenots  absented  them- 


96  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

selves  out  of  respect  to  8nnday,  and  among  tliem  the  fam- 
ily and  guests  of  the  English  embassador,  who  were  in  the 
meantime  attending  the  divine  service  that  had  been  post- 
poned on  account  of  the  morning^s  ceremony.  Neither  was 
the  Duke  of  Quise  present  at  the  entertainment;  for  though 
ho  had  some  months  previously  been  piqued  and  entrapped 
into  a  marriage  with  Catherine  of  Cleves,  yet  his  passion 
for  Marguerite  was  still  so  strong  that  he  could  not  bear  to 
join  in  the  festivities  of  her  wedding  with  another.  The 
absence  of  so  many  distinguished  persons  caused  the  ad- 
mission of  many  less  constantly  privileged,  and  thus  it  was 
that  Diane  there  met  both  her  father  and  brother,  who 
eagerly  drew  her  into  a  window,  and  demanded  what  she 
had  to  tell  them,  laughing  too  at  the  simplicity  of  the 
youth,  wlio  had  left  for  the  chevalier  a  formal  announce- 
ment that  he  had  dispatched  his  jirotest  to  Rome,  and  con- 
sidered himself  as  free  to  obtain  his  wife  by  any  means  in 
his  power. 

"Where  is  la  petite?'"  Narcisse  demanded.  "Behind 
her  queen,  as  usual?" 

"  The  young  queen  keej)s  her  room  to-night,"  returned 
Diane.  "  Nor  do  I  advise  you,  brother,  to  thrust  yourself 
in  the  way  of  la  petite  entetee  just  at  present. " 

"  What,  is  she  so  besotted  with  the  i^eacli  face?  He  shall 
pay  for  it?" 

"  Brother,  no  duel.  Father,  remind  him  that  she  would 
never  forgive  him." 

"  Fear  not,  daughter,"  said  the  chevalier;  "  this  folly 
can  be  ended  by  much  quieter  modes,  only  you  must  first 
give  us  information. " 

"  She  tells  me  nothing,"  said  Diane;  "  she  is  in  one  of 
her  own  humors — high  and  mighty." 

"  Feste  !  where  is  your  vaunt  of  winding  the  little  one 
round  your  finger?" 

"  With  time,  I  said,"  replied  Diane.  Curiously  enough, 
she  had  no  compunction  in  worming  secrets  from  Eustacie 
and  betraying  them,  but  she  could  not  bear  to  think  of  the 
trap  she  had  set  for  the  unsusjDecting  youth,  and  how  in- 
genuously he  had  thanked  her,  little  knowing  how  she  had 
listened  to  his  inmost  secrets. 

"  Time  is  everything,"  said  her  father;  "  delay  will  be 
our  ruin.  Your  inheritance  will  slip  through  your  fingers, 
my  son.     The  youth  will  soon  win  favor  by  abjuring  his 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  97 

heresy;  lie  will  play  the  same  game  with  the  king  as  his 
father  did  with  King  Henri.  You  will  have  nothing  hut 
your  sword,  and  for  you,  my  poor  girl,  there  is  uothiiig  hut 
to  throw  yourself  on  the  kindness  of  our  aunt  at  Bellaise,  if 
she  can  receive  the  vows  of  a  dowerless  maiden. " 

"  It  will  never  be/'  said  Narcisse.  "  My  rapier  will  soon 
dispose  of  a  big  rustic  like  that,  who  knows  just  enough  of 
fencing  to  make  him  an  easy  jn'ey.  What!  I  verily  believe 
the  great  blonde  has  caught  her  fancy!"  as  he  saw  Diane's 
gesture  of  entreaty.  "  And  yet  the  fine  fellow  was  willing 
enough  to  break  the  marriage  Avhen  he  took  her  for  the 
bride.'' 

"  Nay,  my  son,"  argued  the  chevalier,  willing  apjDar- 
ently  to  spare  his  daughter  from  the  sting  of  mortilloation, 
"  as  I  said,  all  can  be  done  without  danger  of  bloodshed  on 
either  side,  were  we  but  aware  of  any  renewed  project  of 
elopement.  The  pretty  pair  would  be  easily  waylaid,  the 
girl  safely  lodged  at  Bellaise,  the  boy  sent  off  to  digest  his 
pi'ide  in  England. " 

"  Unhurt?"  murmured  Diane. 

Her  father  checked  Narcisse's  mockery  at  her  solicitude, 
as  he  added,  "  Unhurt?  yes.  He  is  a  liberal-hearted,  gra- 
cious, fine  young  man,  whom  I  should  much  grieve  to 
harm;  but  if  you  know  of  any  2)lan  of  elopement  and  con- 
ceal it,  my  daughter,  then  upon  you  will  lie  either  the  ruin 
and  disgrace  of  your  famil}^,  or  the  death  of  one  or  both  of 
the  youths. " 

Diane  saw  that  her  question  had  betrayed  her  knowl- 
edge. She  sjioke  faintly.  "  Something  I  did  overhear, 
but  I  know  not  how  to  utter  a  treason." 

"  There  is  no  treason  where  there  is  no  trust,  daughter," 
said  the  chevalier,  in  the  tone  of  a  moral  sage.      "  S^Dcak!" 

Diane  never  disobeyed  her  father,  and  faltered,  "  Wed- 
nesday; it  is  for  Wednesday.  They  mean  to  leave  the  jial- 
ace  in  the  midst  of  the  mask;  there  is  a  market-boat  from 
Leurre  to  meet  them  on  the  river;  his  servants  will  be  in 
it." 

"  On  Wednesday!"  Father  and  son  looked  at  each  other. 

"  That  shall  be  remedied,"  said  Narcisse. 

"  Child,"  added  her  father,  turning  kindly  to  Diane, 
"  you  have  saved  our  fortunes.  There  is  but  one  thing 
more  that  you  must  do.  Make  her  obtain  the  pearls  for 
him." 

4 


98  THE    ClIAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

"Ah!"  sighed  Diane,  half  shocked,  half  revengeful,  as 
she  thought  how  he  had  withheld  them  from  her. 

"It  is  necessary,"  said  the  chevalier.  "  The  heirloom 
of  our  house  must  not  be  risked.  Secure  the  pearls,  child, 
and  you  will  have  done  good  service,  and  earned  tho  mar- 
riage that  shall  reward  you. " 

When  he  was  gone,  Diane  pressed  her  hands  together 
with  a  strange  sense  of  misery.  He,  who  had  shrunk  from 
the  memory  of  little  Diane's  untruthfulness,  Avhat  would 
he  think  of  the  present  Diane^s  treachery?  Yet  it  was  to 
save  his  life  and  that  of  her  brother — and  for  the  assertion 
of  \^Y  victory  over  the  little  robber,  Eustacie. 


CHAPTER  X. 
monsieur's  ballet. 

The  Styx  had  fast  hound  her 
Niue  times  around  her. 

Pope,  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's- day. 

Early  on  Monaay  morning  came  a  message  to  Mile. 
Nid-de-Merle,  that  she  was  to  prepare  to  act  the  part  of  a 
nymph  of  Paradise  in  the  king's  mask  on  Wednesday 
night,  and  must  dress  at  once  to  rehearse  her  part  in  the 
ballet  specially  designed  by  Monsieur. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  hurry  to  her  own  queen,  whom 
she  entreated  to  find  some  mode  ol  exemi^ting  her.  But 
Elizabeth,  wdio  was  still  in  bed,  looked  distressed  and  fright-' 
ened,  made  signs  of  caution,  and  when  the  weeping  girl 
was  on  the  j^oint  of  telling  her  of  the  project  that  would 
thus  be  ruined,  silenced  her  by  saying,  "  Hush!  my  poor 
child,  I  have  but  meddled  too  much  already.  Our  lady 
grant  that  I  have  not  done  you  more  harm  than  good!  Tell 
me  no  more." 

"  Ah!  madame,  I  will  be  discreet,  I  will  tell  on  you  noth- 
ing; but  if  you  would  only  interfere  to  spare  me  from  this 
ballet!  It  is  monsieur's  contrivance!  Ah!  madame,  could 
you  but  speak  to  the  king!" 

"  Impossible,  child,"  said  the  queen.  "  Things  are  not 
here  as  they  were  at  hapjiy  Montpipeau. " 

And  the  poor  young  queen  turned  her  face  in  to  her  pil- 
low, and  wept. 

Every  one  who  was  not  in  a  dream  of  bliss  like  poor  lit- 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  99 

tie  Eusfcacio  knew  tluit  the  king  had  been  in  so  savage  a 
mood  ever  since  his  return  that  no  one  durst  ask  anything 
from  him.  A  little  wliile  since,  he  had  laughed  at  his  gen- 
tle wife  for  letting  herself,  au  emperor's  daughter,  ho 
trampled  on  where  his  brother  Francis's  queen,  from  her 
trumi^ery,  beggarly  realm  had  held  up  her  head,  and  put 
down  la  heUe  mere;  he  had  amused  himself  with  Eliza- 
beth's pretty  little  patronage  of  the  young  Ribaumonts  as 
a  promising  commencement  in  intriguing  like  other  people; 
but  now  he  was  absolutely  violent  at  any  endeavor  to  make 
him  withstand  his  mother,  and  had  driven  his  wife  back 
into  that  cold,  listless,  indifferent  shell  of  apathy  from 
wliich  affection  and  hope  had  begun  to  rouse  her.  She 
knew  it  would  only  make  it  the  worse  for  her  little  Nid-de- 
Merle  for  her  to  interpose  when  monsieur  had  made  the 
choice. 

And  Eustacie  was  more  afraid  of  Monsieur  than  even  of 
Narcisse,  and  her  Berenger  could  not  be  there  to  protect' 
her.  However,  there  was  protection  in  numbers.  With 
twelve  nymphs,  and  cavaliers  to  match,  even  the  Duke  of 
Anjou  could  not  accomijlish  the  being  very  insulting.  Eus- 
tacie— light,  agile,  and  fairy-like- — ^gained  considerable 
credit  for  ready  comjn-ehension  and  graceful  evolutions. 
She  had  never  been  so  much  complimented  before,  and 
was  much  cheered  by  praise.  Diane  showed  herself  highly 
pleased  with  her  little  cousin's  success,  embraced  her  and 
told  her  she  was  finding  her  true  level  at  court.  She  would 
be  the  j^rcttiest  of  all  the  nymphs,  who  were  all  small,  since 
fairies  rather  than  Amazons  were  wanted  in  their  position. ' 
"And,  Eustacie,"  she  added,  "you  should  wear  the 
pearls. ' ' 

"The  pearls!"  said  Eustacie.  "Ah!  but  he  always 
M^ears  them.  I  like  to  see  them  on  his  bonnet — they  are 
hardly  whiter  than  his  forehead." 

"  Foolish  little  thing!"  said  Diane,  "  I  shall  think  little 
of  his  love  if  he  cares  to  see  himself  in  them  more  than  you. '  * 

The  shaft  seemed  carelessly  shot,  but  Diane  knew  that  it 
would  work,  and  so  it  did.  Eustacie  wanted  to  prove  her 
husband's  love,  not  to  herself,  but  to  her  cousin. 

He  made  his  way  to  her  in  the  gardens  of  the  Louvre 
that  evening,  greatly  dismayed  at  the  report  that  had 
reached  him  that  she  was  to  figure  as  a  nymph  of  Elysium. 
She  would  thus  be  in  sight  as  a  prominent  figure  the  whole 


100  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

evening,  even  till  an  hour  so  late  that  the  niarkct-boafc 
which  Osbert  had  arranged  for  their  escape  could  not  wait 
for  them  without  exciting  susj^icion;  and  besides,  his  deli- 
cate English  feelings  were  revolted  at  the  notion  of  her 
forming  a  part  of  such  a  spectacle.  She  could  not  under- 
stand his  displeasure.  If  they  could  not  go  on  Wednesday, 
they  could  go  on  Satnrday;  and  as  to  her  acting,  half  the 
noblest  ladies  in  the  court  would  be  in  the  piece,  and  if 
Ei]glisli  husbands  did  not  like  it,  they  must  be  the  tyrants 
she  had  always  heard  of. 

"  To  be  a  gazing-stock,"  began  Berenger. 
"  Hush  I  monsieur,  I  will  hear  no  more,  or  I  shall  take 
care  how  I  put  myself  in  yonr  jDOwer. " 

"  That  has  been  done  for  you,  sweetheart,'^  he  said, 
smiling  with  perhajDS  a  shade  too  much  sujjeriority;  "you 
are  mine  entirely  now.  " 

"  That  is  not  kind,"  she  jDOuted,  almost  crying — for  be- 
tween flattery,  excitement,  and  disaiipointment  she  was 
not  like  herself  that  day,  and  she  was  too  j^roud  to  like  to 
be  reminded  that  she  was  in  any  one's  jDOwer. 

"I  thought,''  said  Berenger,  with  the  gentleness  that 
always  made  him  manly  in  dealing  with  her,  "  I  thought 
you  liked  to  own  yourself  mine." 

"  Yes,  sir,  when  you  are  good,  and  do  not  try  to  hector 
me  for  what  I  can  not  avoid. " 

Berenger  was  candid  enough  to  recollect  that  royal  com- 
mands did  not  brook  disobedience,  and,  being  thoroughly 
enamored  besides  of  his  little  wife,  he  hastened  to  make  his 
peace  by  saying,  "  True,  ma  mie,  this  can  not  be  helped. 
I  was  a  wretch  to  find  fault.  Think  of  it  no  more." 
"  You  forgive  me?"  she  said,  softened  instantly. 
"  Forgive  yon?  What  for,  pretty  one?  For  my  forget- 
ting that  you  are  still  a  slave  to  a  hateful  court?" 

"  Ah!  then  if  you  forgive  me,  let  me  wear  the  pearls." 
"  The  poor  pearls,"  said  Berenger,  taken  aback  for  a. 
moment,  "  the  meed  of  our  forefather's  valor,  to  form  part 
of  the  pageant  and  mummery?  But  never  mind,  sweet- 
heart," for  he  could  not  bear  to  vex  her  again;  "  you  shall 
have  them  to-night;  only  take  care  of  them.  My  mother 
would  look  black  on  me  if  she  knew  I  had  let  them  out  of 
my  care,  but  you  and  I  are  one,  after  all." 

Berenger  could  not  bear  to  leave  his  wife  near  the  Duke 
of  Anjou  and  Narcisse,  and  he  offered  himself  to  the  king 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  101 

as  an  actor  in  the  mask,  much  as  he  detested  all  he  heard 
of  its  subject.  The  king  nodded  comprehension^  and  told 
him  it  was  open  to  him  either  to  be  a  demon  in  a  tight  suit 
of  black  cloth,  with  cloven-hoof  shoes,  a  long  tail,  and  a 
trident;  or  one  of  the  Huguenots  who  were  to  be  repulsed 
from  Paradise  for  the  edification  of  the  spectators.  As  these 
last  were  to  wear  suits  of  knightly  armor,  Berenger  much 
preferred  making  one  of  them  in  S])ite  of  their  doom. 

The  nuisk  was  given  at  the  hall  of  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
bon, wliere  a  noble  gallery  accommodated  the  audience,  and 
left  full  space  beneath  for  the  actors.  Down  the  center  of 
the  stage  flowed  a  stream,  broad  enough  to  contain  a  boat, 
which  was  plied  by  the  Abbe  de  Mcricour — transformed  by 
a  gray  beard  and  hair  and  dismal  mask  into  Charon. 

But  so  unused  to  navigation  was  he,  so  crazy  and  ill- 
trimmed  his  craft,  that  his  first  performance  would  have 
been  his  submersion  in  the  Styx  had  not  Berenger,  better 
accustomed  to  boats  than  any  of  the  dramatis  person cb, 
caught  him  by  the  arm  as  he  was  about  to  step  in,  pointed 
out  the  perils,  weighted  the  frail  vessel,  and  given  him  a 
lesson  in  paddling  it  to  and  fro,  with  such  a  masterly  hand, 
that,  had  there  been  time  for  a  change  of  dress,  the  part  of 
Charon  would  have  been  unanimout>ly  transferred  to  him; 
but  the  delay  could  not  be  suffered,  and  poor  Mericour,  in 
fear  of  a  ducking,  or  worse,  of  ridicule,  balanced  himself, 
pole  in  hand,  in  the  midst  of  the  river.  To  the  right  of 
the  river  was  Elysium — a  circular  island  revolving  on  a 
wheel  which  was  an  absolute  orrer}^,  representing  in  con- 
centric circles  the  skies,  with  the  sun,  moon,  the  seven 
planets,  twelve  signs,  and  the  fixed  stars,  all  illuminated 
with  small  lamps.  The  island  itself  was  covered  with  verd- 
ure, in  which,  among  bowers  woven  of  gay  flowers,  re- 
posed twelve  nymphs  of  Paradise,  of  whom  Eustacie  was  one. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  stream  was  another  wheel,  whose 
grisly  emblems  were  reminders  of  Dante's  infernal  circles, 
and  were  lighted  by  lurid  flames,  while  little  bells  were 
hung  round  so  as  to  make  a  harsh  jangling  sound,,  and  all 
of  the  court  who  had  any  turn  for  buffoonery  were  leaping 
and  dancing  about  as  demons  beneath  it,  and  uttering  wild 
shouts. 

King  Charles  and  his  two  brothers  stood  on  the  margin 
of  the  Elysian  lake.  King  Henry,  the  Prince  of  Conde, 
and  a  selection  of  the  younger  and  gayer  Huguenots,  were 


102  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

tlio  assailants — storming  Paradise  to  gain  possession  of  the 
nymphs.  It  was  a  very  ilhisive  armor  that  they  wore,  thin 
scales  of  gold  or  silver  as  cuirasses  over  their  satin  doublets, 
and  the  swords  and  lances  of  festive  combat  in  that  court 
had  been  of  the  bluntest  foil  ever  since  the  father  of  these 
princes  had  died  beneath  Montgomery's  spear.  And  when 
the  king  and  his  brothers,  one  of  them  a  j)uny  crookeil 
boy,  were  the  champions,  the  battle  must  needs  be  the 
merest  show,  though  there  were  lookers-on  who  thought 
that,  judging  by  appearances,  the  assailants  ought  to  have 
the  best  chance  of  victory,  both  literal  and  allegorical. 

However,  these  three  guardian  angels  had  choice  allies 
in  the  shape  of  the  infernal  company,  who,  as  fast  as  the 
Huguenots  crossed  swords  or  shivered  lances  with  their  royal 
opponents,  encircled  them  with  their  long  black  arms,  and 
dragged  them  struggling  away  to  Tartarus.  Henry  of 
Navarre  yielded  himself  with  a  good-will  to  the  horse-play 
with  which  this  was  performed,  resisting  just  enough  to 
give  his  demoniacal  captors  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  while 
yielding  all  the  time,  and  taking  them  by  surprise  by  agile 
efforts,  that  showed  that  if  he  were  excluded  from  Paradise 
it  was  only  by  his  own  consent,  and  that  he  heartily  en- 
joyed the  merriment.  Most  of  his  comrades,  in  esj^ecial 
the  young  Count  de  Rochefoucauld,  entered  into  the  sjiort 
with  the  same  heartiness,  but  the  Prince  of  Conde  submit- 
ted to  his  fate  with  a  gloomy,  disgusted  countenance,  that 
added  much  to  the  general  mirth;  and  Berenger,  with 
Eustacie  before  his  eyes,  looking  j^ale,  distressed,  and  ill  at 
ease,  was  a  great  deal  too  much  in  earnest.  He  had  so 
veritable  an  inqndse  to  leap  forward  and  snatch  her  from 
that  giddy  revolving  prison,  that  he  struck  against  the 
sword  of  Monsieur  wdth  a  hearty  good-will.  His  silvered 
lath  snapped  in  his  hand,  and  at  that  moment  he  was  seized 
round  the  waist,  and,  when  his  furious  struggle  was  felt  to 
be  in  earnest,  he  was  pulled  over  on  his  back,  while  yells 
and  shouts  of  discordant  laughter  rang  round  him,  as  de- 
mons pinioned  him  hand  and  foot. 

He  thought  he  heard  a  faint  cry  from  Eustacie,  and, 
with  a  sudden,  unexpected  struggle,  started  into  a  sitting 
posture;  but   a  derisive  voice,   that  well  he  knew,  cried. 

Ha,  the  deadly  siti  of  ^n'ide!  Monsieur  thinks  his  painted 
face  pleases  the  ladies.  To  the  dejiths  with  him  " —  and 
therewith  one  imp  pulled  him  backward  again,  while  others 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  103 

danced  a  war-dance  round  him,  pointing  their  forks  at 
liim;  and  the  prime  tormentor,  whom  he  perfccitly  recog- 
nized, not  only  leajied  over  him,  but  spumed  at  liis  face 
with  a  cloven  foot,  giving  a  blow,  not  of  gay  French  mal- 
ice, but  of  malignity.  It  was  too  much  for  the  boy's  for- 
bearance. He  struggled  free,  dashing  life  adversaries  asidt' 
fiercely,  and  as  they  again  gathered  about  him,  with  the 
leader  shouting,  "  Rage,  too,  rage!  To  the  prey,  imps  "— 
he  clinched  his  first,  and  dealt  tlie  foremost  foe  such  a  blow 
on  the  chest  as  to  level  him  at  once  with  the  ground. 

"  Monsieur  forgets,"  said  a  voice,  friendly  yet  reproach- 
ful, "  that  this  is  but  s^oort." 

It  was  Henry  of  Kavarrc  himself  who  spoke,  and  bent  to 
give  a  hand  to  the  fallen  imp.  A  flush  of  shame  rushed 
over  Berenger's  face,  already  red  with  passion.  He  felt 
that  he  had  done  wrong  to  use  his  strength  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, and  that,  though  there  had  been  spite  in  his  assail- 
ant, he  had  not  been  therefore  justified.  He  was  glad  to 
see  Narcisse  rise  lightly  to  his  feet,  evidently  unhurt,  and, 
with  the  frankness  with  which  he  had  often  made  it  up 
with  Philip  Thistlewood  or  his  other  English  comrades 
after  a  sharp  tussle,  he  held  out  his  hand,  saying,  *'  Good 
demon,  your  pardon.  You  roused  my  spirit,  and  I  forgot 
myself. ' ' 

"  Demons  forget  not,''  was  the  reply.  "  At  him,  imps!" 
And  a  whole  circle  of  hobgoblins  closed  upon  him  with 
their  tridents,  forks,  and  other  horrible  implements,  to 
drive  him  back  within  two  tall  barred  gates,  which,  illumi- 
nated by  red  flames,  were  to  form  the  ghastly  prison  of  the 
vanquished.  Perhaps  fresh  indignities  would  have  been 
attempted,  had  not  the  King  of  Is'avarre  thrown  himself  on 
his  side,  shared  with  him  the  brunt  of  all  the  grotesque 
weapons,  and  battled  them  otf  with  infinite  spirit  and  ad- 
dress, shielding  him  as  it  were  from  their  rude  insults  by 
his  own  dexterity  and  inviolability,  though  retreating  all 
the  time  till  the  infernal  gates  were  closed  on  both. 

Then  Henry  of  Navarre,  who  never  forgot  a  face,  held 
out  his  hand,  saying,  "  Tartarus  is  no  region  of  good  omen 
for  friendships.  Monsieur  de  Ribaumont,  but,  for  lack  of 
yonder  devil's  claw,  here  is  mine.  I  like  to  meet  a  com- 
rade who  can  strike  a  hearty  blow,  and  ask  a  hearty  jiar- 
don." 


104  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

*"'  I  was  too  hot,  sire/'  confessed  Berenger,  with  one  of 
his  ingenuous  blushes,  "  but  he  enraged  me.  " 

"He  means  mischief,"  said  Henr3^  "  Iiemcniber,  if 
you  are  molested  respecting  this  matter,  that  you  have  here 
a  witness  that  you  did  the  part  of  a  gentleman." 

Berenger  bowed  his  thanks,  and  began  something  abon! 
the  honor,  but  his  eye  anxiously  followed  the  circuit  vi. 
which  Eustacie  was  carried,  and  the  glance  was  quickly  re- 
marked. 

"  How?  Your  heart  is  .sj)innii]g  in  that  Mohammedan 
paradise,  and  that  is  whtit  put  such  force  into  your  fists. 
Which  of  the  houris  is  it?  The  little  one  with  the  wistful 
eyes,  who  looked  so  deadly  white  and  shrieked  out  when  the 
devilry  overturned  you?  Eh!  monsieur,  you  are  a  happy 
man. '' 

"  I  should  be,  sire;"  and  Berenger  was  on  the  point  of 
confiding  the  situation  of  his  affiurs  to  this  most  engaging 
of  princes,  when  a  fresh  supply  of  prisoners,  chased  with 
wild  antics  and  fiendish  yells  by  the  devils,  came  headlong 
in  on  them;  and  immediatel}^,  completing,  as  Henry  said, 
the  galimatias  of  mythology,  a  pasteboard  cloud  was  pro- 
pelled on  the  stage,  and  disclosed  the  deities  Mercury  and 
Cupid,  who  made  a  complimeiitary  address  to  the  three 
2orincely  brothers,  inciting  them  to  claim  tlie  nymphs  whom 
their  valor  had  defended,  and  lead  them  through  the  mazes 
of  a  choric  celestial  dance. 

This  dance  had  been  the  special  device  of  Monsieur  aTul 
the  ballet-master,  and  dui-ing  the  last  three  days  the  houris 
had  been  almost  danced  oif  their  legs  with  rehearsing  it 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  but  one  at  least  of  them  was 
scarcely  in  a  condition  for  its  performance.  Eustacie,  diz- 
zied at  the  first  minute  by  the  whirl  of  her  Elysian  merry- 
go-round,  had  immediately  after  become  conscious  of  that 
which  she  had  been  too  childish  to  estimate  merely  in  pros- 
pect, the  exposure  to  universal  gaze.  Strange  staring  eyes, 
glaring  lights,  frightful  imps  seemed  to  wheel  round  her  in 
an  intolerable  delirious  succession.  Her  only  refuge  was 
in  closing  her  eyes,  but  even  this  could  not  long  be  perse- 
vered in,  so  necessary  a  part  of  the  pageant  was  she;  and 
besides,  she  had  Berenger  to  look  for,  Berenger,  whom  she 
had  foolishly  laughed  at  for  knowing  how  dreadful  it  would 
be.  But  of  course  the  endeavor  to  seek  for  one  object  with 
her  eyes  made  the  dizziness  even  more  dreadful;  and  when, 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  105 

at  length,  slio  beheld  him  dragged  down  by  tlic  demoniacal 
creatures,  whose  horrors  were  magnified  by  her  confused 
senses,  and  the  next  moment  she  \vas  twirled  out  of  sight, 
her  cry  of  distracted  alarm  was  irrepressible.  Carried 
round  again  and  again,  on  a  wheel  that  to  her  was  far  more 
like  Ixion's  than  that  of  the  spheres,  she  never  cleared  her 
perceptions  as  to  where  he  was,  and  only  was  half  mad- 
dened by  the  fantastic  whirl  of  incongruous  imagery,  while 
she  barely  sat  out  Mercury's  lengthy  harangue;  and  when 
her  wheel  stood  still,  and  she  was  released,  she  could  not 
stand,  and  was  indebted  to  Charon  and  one  of  her  fellow 
nymphs  for  supporting  her  to  a  chair  in  the  back  of  the 
scene.  Kind  Charon  hurried  to  bring  her  wine,  the  lady 
revived  her  with  essences,  and  the  ballet-master  clamored 
for  his  2)erforniers. 

Ill  or  well,  royal  ballets  must  be  danced.  One  long  sob, 
one  gaze  round  at  the  refreshing  sight  of  a  room  no  longer 
in  motion,  one  wistful  look  at  the  gates  of  Tartarus,  and 
the  misery  of  the  throbbing,  aching  head  must  be  disre- 
garded. The  ballet-master  touched  the  white  cheeks  with 
rouge,  and  she  stepped  forward  just  in  time,  for  Monsieur 
himself  was  coming  angrily  forward  to  learn  the  cause  of 
the  delay. 

Spectators  said  the  windings  of  that  dance  were  exquis- 
itely graceful.  It  was  well  that  Eustacie's  drilling  had 
been  so  complete,  foi*  she  moved  tln-ough  it  blindly,  sense- 
lessly, and  when  it  was  over  was  let!  back  between  the  two 
Demoiselles  de  Limeuil  to  the  apartment  that  served  as  a 
greenroom,  drooping  and  almost  fainting.  They  seated 
her  in  a  chair,  and  consulted  round  her,  and  her  cousin 
Narcisse  was  among  the  first  to  approach;  but  no  sooner 
had  she  caught  sight  of  his  devilish  trim  than  with  a  little 
shriek  she  shut  her  eyes,  and  flung  herself  to  the  other  side 
of  the  chair. 

"  My  fair  cousin,"  he  said,  opening  his  black  vizard, 
"  do  you  not  see  me?  I  am  no  demon,  remember!  I  am 
your  cousin." 

"  That  makes  it  no  better,"  said  Eustacie,  too  much  dis- 
ordered and  confused  to  be  on  her  guard,  and  hiding  her 
face  with  her  hands.     "  Go,  go,  I  entreat." 

"  Nay,  my  fair  one,  I  can  not  leave  you  thus!  Shall  I 
send  for  my  father  to  take  you  home?" 

In  fact  he  had  already  done  this,  and  the  ladies  added 


lOrt  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

tlieir  counsel;  for  indeed  the  poor  child  could  scarcely  hold 
up  her  head,  bufc  she  said,  "I  should  like  to  stay,  if  I 
could;  a  little,  a  little  longer.  Will  they  not  open  those 
dreadful  bars?"  she  added,  presently. 

"  They  are  even  now  opening  them,"  said  Mile,  de  Lim- 
euil.  "Hark!  they  are  going  to  fight  en  melee.  Made- 
moiselle de  Nid-de-Merle  is  better  now!" 
"  Oh,  yes;  let  me  not  detain  you.'^ 
Eustacie  would  have  risen,  but  the  two  sisters  had  flut- 
tered back,  impatient  to  lose  nothing  of  the  sports;  and 
her  cousin  in  his  grim  disguise  stood  full  before  her.  "  No 
haste,  cousin,"  he  said;  "  you  are  not  fit  to  move." 

"Oh,  then  go,"  said  Eustacie,  suffering  too  much  not 
to  be  j)etulant.     "  You  make  me  worse. " 

"  And  why?  It  was  not  always  thus,"  began  Narcisse, 
so  eager  to  seize  an  opportunity  as  to  have  little  considera- 
tion for  her  condition;  but  she  was  unable  to  bear  any 
more,  and  broke  out:  "  Yes,  it  was;  I  always  detested  you. 
I  detest  you  more  than  ever,  since  you  deceived  me  so 
cruelly.     Oh,  do  but  leave  me!" 

"You  scorn  me,  tben?  You  prefer  to  me — who  have 
loved  you  so  long — that  childish  new-comer,  who  was  ready 
enough  to  cast  you  oif." 

"  Prefer!  He  is  my  husband!  It  is  an  insult  for  any  one 
else  to  speak  to  me  thus!"  said  Eustacie,  drawing  herself 
up,  and  rising  to  her  feet;  but  she  was  forced  to  hold  by 
the  back  of  her  chair,  and  Diane  and  her  father  appearing 
at  tliat  moment,  she  tottered  toward  the  former,  and  be- 
coming quite  passive  under  the  influence  of  violent  dizzi- 
ness and  headache,  made  no  objection  to  being  half  led, 
half  carried,  through  galleries  that  connected  the  Hotel  de 
P>ourbon  with  the  Louvre. 

And  thus  it  was  that  when  Berenger  had  fought  out  his 
part  in  the  7nelee  of  the  jjrisoners  released,  and  had  main- 
tained the  honors  of  the  rose-colored  token  in  his  helmet, 
he  found  that  his  lady-love  had  been  obliged  by  indisposition 
to  return  home;  and  while  he  stood,  folding  his  arms  to 
restrain  their  strong  inclination  to  take  Narcisse  by  the 
throat  and  demand  whether  this  were  another  of  his  decep- 
tions, a  train  of  fire-works  suddenly  exploded  in  the  middle 
of  the  Styx — a  last  surprise,  especially  contrived  by  King 
Charles,  and  so  effectual  that  half  the  ladies  were  shrieking, 


THE    CHAPLKT    OF    PEARLS.  107 

and  imagining  that  they  and  the  whole  hall  liad  blown  up 
together. 

A  long  supper,  full  of  revelry,  succeeded,  and  at  length 
Sidney  and  IJibauniont  walked  home  together  in  the  midst 
of  their  armed  servants  bearing  torches.  All  the  way  liome 
Ikrenger  was  bitter  in  vituperation  of  the  hateful  pageant 
and  all  its  details, 

'"Yea,  truly,"  replied  Sidney;  "  methought  that  it 
betokens  disease  in  the  mind  of  a  nation  when  their  festive 
revelry  is  thus  ghastly,  rendering  the  most  awful  secrets 
made  known  by  our  God  in  order  to  warn  man  from  sin 
into  a  mere  antic  laughing-stock.  Laughter  should  be 
moved  by  what  is  fair  and  laughter- worthy — even  like 
such  sports  as  our  own  '  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.'  I 
have  read  that  the  bloody  temper  of  liome  fed  itself  in  ■ 
gladiator  shows,  and  verily,  what  we  bebeld  to-night  be- 
tokens something  at  once  grisly  and  light-minded  in  the 
mood  of  this  country." 

Sidney  thought  so  the  more  Avhen  on  the  second  ensuing 
morning  the  Admiral  de  Coligny  was  shot  through  both 
hands  by  an  assassin  generally  known  to  have  been  posted 
by  the  Duke  of  Guise,  yet  often  called  by  the  sinister  sobri- 
quet of  Le  2\ieur  du  Roi. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   king's   tragedy. 

The  night  is  come,  no  fears  disturb 

The  sk^ep  of  innocence. 
They  trust  in  kingly  faitli,  and  kingly  oath. 
They  sleep,  alas!    they  sleep. 
•  Go  to  the  palace,  wouldst  thou  know 

How  hideous  night  can  be; 
Eye  is  not  closed  in  those  accursed  walls. 
Nor  heart  is  quiet  there! 

SouTHEY,  Bartholomew's  em. 

"Young  gentlemen,"  said  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  as 
he  rose  from  dinner  on  the  Saturday,  "  are  you  bound  for 
the  palace  this  evening?" 

"  I  am,  so  please  your  excellencj^"  returned  Berenger. 

"I  would  have  you  both  to  iniderstand  that  you  must 
have  a  care  of  yourselves,"  said  the  embassador.  "  The 
admiral's  wound  has  justly  caused  much  alarm,  and  I  hear 


108  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS. 

that  the  Protestants  are  going  vaporing  about  in  so  noisy 
and  incautious  a  manner,  crying  out  for  justice,  that  it  is 
but  too  hkely  tliat  the  party  of  the  queen-mother  and  the 
Guises  will  be  moved  to  strong  measures/' 

"  They  will  never  dare  lay  a  finger  upon  us!''  said  Sidney. 
"  In  a  terror-striclven  fray  men  are  no  respecters  of  per- 
sons," replied  Sir  Francis.  "  This  house  is,  of  course,  in- 
violable; and,  whatever  the  madness  of  the  people,  we  have 
stout  hearts  enough  here  to  enforce  respect  thereto;  but  I 
can  not  answer  even  for  an  Englishman's  life  beyond  its 
precincts;  and  you,  Eibaumont,  whom  I  can  not  even 
claim  as  my  queen's  subject — I  greatly  fear  to  trust  you 
beyond  its  bounds. " 

"  I  can  not  help  it,  sir.  Nay,  with  the  most  grateful 
thanks  for  all  your  goodness  to  me,  I  must  pray  you  not  to 
take  either  alarm  or  offense  if  I  return  not  this  night." 

"  No  more,  my  friend,"  said  Walsingham,  quickly;  "  let 
me  know  nothing  of  your  purposes,  but  take  care  of  your- 
self. I  would  you  were  safe  at  home  again,  though  the  de- 
sire may  seem  inhospitable.  The  sooner  the  better  with 
whatever  you  have  to  do. " 

"  Is  the  danger  so  imminent?"  asked  Sidney. 
"  I  know  nothing,  Philip.  All  I  can  tell  is  that,  as  I 
have  read  that  dogs  and  cattle  scent  an  earthquake  in  the 
air,  so  men  and  women  seem  to  breathe  a  sense  of  danger 
in  this  city.  And  to  me  the  graciousness  with  which  the 
Huguenots  have  been  of  late  treated  wears  a  strangely  sus- 
picious air.  Sudden  and  secret  is  the  blow  like  to  be,  and 
we  can  not  be  too  much  on  our  guard.  Therefore  remem- 
ber, my  young  friends  both,  that  your  danger  or  death 
would  fall  heavily  on  those  ye  love  and  honor  at  home. " 

So  saying,  he  left  the  two  youths,  unwilling  to  seek  fur- 
ther confidence,  and  Berenger  held  his  last  consultation 
with  Sidney,  to  whom  he  gave  directions  for  making  full 
explanation  to  AValsingham  in  his  absence,  and  ex^Dcdi ting- 
Mr.  Adderley's  return  to  England.  Osbert  alone  was  to 
go  to  the  Louvre  with  him,  after  having  seen  the  five  En- 
glish grooms  on  board  the  little  decked  market-vessel  on 
the  Seine,  which  was  to  await  the  fugitives.  Berenger  was 
to  present  hmiself  in  the  j^ialace  as  in  his  ordinary  court  at- 
tendance, and,  contriving  to  elude  notice  among  the  throng 
who  were  there  lodged,  was  to  take  up  his  station  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the  apartments  of  the  ladies, 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  TEARLS.  109 

whence  Eustacio  was  to  descend  at  about  eleven  o'clock  with 
her  maid  Veronique.  Landry  Osbert  was  to  join  them  from 
the  lackeys'  hall  below,  where  he  had  a  friend,  and  the 
connivance  of  the  jwrter  at  the  postern  opening  toward  the 
Seine  had  been  secured. 

Sidney  wished  much  to  accompany  him  to  the  palace,  if 
his  presence  could  be  any  aid  or  protection,  but  on  consid- 
eration it  was  decided  that  his  being  at  the  Louvre  was  like- 
ly to  attract  notice  to  liibaumont's  delaying  there.  The 
two  young  men  therefore  snook  hands  and  joarted,  as  youths 
who  trusted  that  they  had  begun  a  lifelong  friendship,  with 
mutual  j)romises  to  write  to  one  another — the  one,  the  ad- 
ventures of  his  flight;  the  other,  the  astonishment  it  would 
excite.  And  auguries  were  exchanged  of  merry  meetings  in 
London,  and  of  the  admiration  the  lovely  little  wife  would 
excite  at  Queen  Elizabeth's  court. 

Then,  with  an  embrace  snch  as  English  friends  then  gave, 
they  separated  at  the  gate;  and  Sidney  stood  watching,  as 
Berenger  walked  free  and  bold  down  the  street,  his  sword 
at  his  side,  his  cloak  over  one  shoulder,  his  feathered  cap 
on  one  side,  showing  his  bright  curling  hair,  a  sunshiny 
picture  of  a  victorious  bridegroom — such  a  picture  as  sent 
Philip  Sidney's  wits  back  to  Arcadia. 

It  was  not  a  day  of  special  state,  but  the  palace  was  great- 
ly crowded.  The  Huguenots  were  in  an  excited  mood,  in- 
clined to  rally  round  Henry  of  Navarre,  whose  royal  title 
made  him  be  looked  on  as  in  a  manner  their  monarch, 
though  his  kingdom  had  been  swallowed  by  Spain,  and  ho 
was  no  more  than  a  French  duke  distantly  related  to  roy- 
alty in  the  male  line,  and  more  nearly  through  his  grand- 
mother and  bride.  The  eight  hundred  gentlemen  he  had 
brought  with  him  swarmed  about  his  ajoartments,  making 
their  lodging  on  staircases  and  in  passages;  and  to  Berenger 
it  seemed  as  if  the  king's  guards  and  Monsieiir's  gentlemen 
must  have  come  in  in  equal  numbers  to  balance  them. 
Narcisse  was  there,  and  Berenger  kejjt  cautiously  amid  his 
Huguenot  acquaintance,  resolved  not  to  have  a  quarrel 
thrust  on  him  which  he  could  not  honorably  desert.  It 
was  late  before  he  could  work  his  way  to  the  y(>ung  queen's 
reception-room,  where  he  found  Eustacie.  She  looked  al- 
most as  white  as  at  the  mask;  but  there  was  a  graver,  less 
childish  expression  in  her  face  than  he  had  ever  seen  before, 
and  her  eyes  glanced  confidence  when  they  met  his. 


110  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

Behind  the  queen's  chair  a  few  words  could  he  spoken. 

"  Ma  viie,  art  thou  well  again?  Canst  bear  this  journey 
now?" 

"  Quite  well,  now!  cjuitc  ready.  Oh,  that  we  may  never 
have  masks  in  England!" 

He  smiled — "  Never  such  as  this." 

"  Ah!  thou  knowest  best.  I  am  glad  I  am  thine  al- 
ready; I  am  so  silly,  thou  wouldst  never  have  chosen  me! 
But  thou  wilt  teach  me,  and  I  wdl  strive  to  be  very  good! 
And  oh!  let  me  bat  give  one  farewell  to  Diane.'' 

"  It  is  too  hard  to  deny  thee  aught  to-night,  sweetheart, 
but  judge  for  thyself.     Think  of  the  perils,  and  decide. " 

Before  Eustacie  could  answer,  a  rough  voice  came  near, 
the  king  making  noisy  sport  with  the  Count  de  Eochefou- 
cauld  and  others.  He  was  louder  and  ruder  than  Berenger 
had  ever  yet  seen  him,  almost  giving  the  notion  of  intoxi- 
cation; but  neither  he  nor  his  brother  Hen ry  ever  tasted 
wine,  though  both  had  a  strange  j^leasure  in  being  present 
at  the  orgies  of  their  companions:  the  king,  it  was  gen- 
erally said,  from  love  of  the  self-forgetf ulness  of  excitement 
— the  Duke  of  Anjou,  because  his  cool  brain  there  collected 
men's  secrets  to  serve  afterward  for  his  spiteful  diversion. 

Berenger  would  willingly  have  escaped  notice,  but  his 
bright  face  and  sunny  hair  always  "made  him  conspicuous, 
and  the  king  suddenly  strode  up  to  him,  "  You  here,  sir! 
I  thought  you  would  have  managed  your  affairs  so  as  to  be 
gone  long  ago!"  then  before  Berenger  could  reply,  "  How- 
ever, since  here  you  are,  come  along  with  me  to  my  bed- 
chamber! We  are  to  have  a  carouse  there  to-night  that 
will  ring  througli  all  Paris!  Yes,  and  shake  Eochefoucauld 
out  of  his  bed  at  midnight!  You  will  be  one  of  us,  Ribau- 
mont?     I  commaiid  it!" 

And  without  waiting  for  reply  he  turned  away  with  an 
arm  round  Eochefoucauld'sneck,  and  boisterously  addressed 
another  of  the  company,  almost  as  wildly  as  if  he  were  in 
the  mood  that  Scots  call  "  fey. " 

"  Eoyalty  seems  determined  to  frustrate  our  plans;"  said 
Berenger,  as  soon  as  the  king  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  But  you  will  not  go!  His  comrades  drink  till — oh! 
two,  three  in  the  morning.     We  should  never  get  away." 

"  No,  I  must  risk  his  displeasure.  We  shall  soon  be  be- 
yond his  reach.     But  at  least  I  may  make  his  invitation  a 


THE    CnAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  Ill 

reason  for  remaining  in  tlio  Louvre,  reoplc  are  departing! 
Soon  wilt  thou  be  my  own." 

"  As  soon  as  the  queen's  eoncJier  is  over!  I  have  but  to 
change  to  a  traveling-dress/' 

"  At  the  foot  of  the  winding-stair.    Sweetest,  be  brave!" 

"  I  fear  nothing  with  thee  to  guard  me.  See,  the  queen 
is  rising. " 

Elizabeth  was  in  effect  rising  to  make  lier  respectful 
progress  to  the  rooms  of  the  queen-mother,  to  bid  her  good- 
night; and  Eustacie  must  follow.  Would  Diane  be  there? 
Oh,  that  the  command  to  judge  between  her  lieart  and  her 
caution  had  not  been  given!     Cruel  kindness! 

Diane  was  there,  straight  as  a  poplar,  cold  as  marble, 
with  fixed  eyes.  Eustacie  stole  up  to  her,  and  touched  her. 
She  turned  with  a  start.  "  Cousin,  you  have  been  very 
good  to  me!"'  Diane  started  again,  as  if  stung.  "  You 
will  love  me  still,  whatever  you  hear?" 

"  Is  this  meant  for  farewell?"  said  Diane,  grasping  her 
wrist. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  Diane.     I  may  not." 

"  Where  thei-e  is  no  trust  there  is  no  treason,"  said  Di- 
ane, dreamily.  "  No,  answer  me  not,  little  one,  there  will 
be  time  for  that  another  day.     Where  is  he?" 

"In  the  (Buil-de-baiKf,  hetween  the  king's  and  queen's 
suites  of  rooms.  I  must  go.  There  is  the  queen  going. 
Diane,  one  loving  word." 

"  Silly  child,  you  shall  have  j)lenty  another  time,'*  said 
Diane,  breaking  away.     '*  Follow  thy  queen  now!" 

Catherine,  who  sat  between  her  daughters  Claude  and 
Marguerite,  looked  preoccupied,  and  summarily  dismissed 
her  daughter-in-law,  Elizabeth,  whom  Eustacie  was  obliged 
to  follow  to  her  own  state-room.  There  all  the  forms  of 
the  couclicr  w^re  tediously  gone  through;  every  pin  had  its 
own  ceremony,  and  even  when  her  majesty  was  safely  de- 
posited under  her  blue  satin  coverlet  the  ladies  still  stood 
round  till  she  felt  disposed  to  fall  asleep.  Elizabeth  was 
both  a  sleepy  and  a  considerate  person,  so  that  this  Avas  not 
so  protracted  a  vigil  as  was  sometimes  exacted  by  the  more 
wakeful  princesses;  but  Eustacie  could  not  escape  from  it 
till  it  was  already  almost  midnight,  the  period  for  her  tryst. 

Her  heart  was  very  full.  It  was  not  the  usual  flutter  and 
terror  of  an  eloping  girl.  Eustacie  was  a  fearless  little  be- 
ing, and  her  conscience  had  no  alarms;  her  affections  were 


112  THE  CHAPLET  OE  EEARLS. 

wholly  with  Bercnger,  and  her  transient  glimpses  of  him 
liad  been  as  of  something  come  out  of  a  region  higher,  ten- 
derer, stronger,  purer,  more  trustworthy  than  that  where 
she  had  dwelt.  8he  was  proud  of  belonging  to  him.  She 
had  felt  upheld  by  the  consciousness  through  years  of 
waiting,  and  now  he  more  than  realized  her  hojies,  and  she 
could  have  wejit  for  exulting  joy.  Yet  it  was  a  strange, 
stealthy  break  with  all  she  had  to  leave  behind.  The  light 
to  which  he  belonged  seemed  strange,  chill,  dazzling  light, 
and  she  shivered  at  the  thought  of  it,  as  if  the  new  w^orld, 
new  ideas,  and  new  requirements  could  oidy  be  endured 
with  him  to  shield  her  and  helji  her  on.  And  withal,  there 
seemed  to  her  a  shudder  over  the  whole  jolace  on  that  night. 
The  king's  eyes  looked  wild  and  startled,  the  queen- moth- 
er's calm  was  strained,  the  Duchess  of  Lorraine  was  evi- 
dently in  a  state  of  strong  nervous  excitement;  there  was 
strange  sounds,  strange  people  moving  about,  a  weight  on 
everything,  as  if  they  were  under  the  shadow  of  a  thunder- 
cloud. "Could  it  be  only  her  own  fancy?"  she  said  to 
herself,  because  this  was  to  be  the  great  event  of  her  life, 
for  surely  all  these  great  people  could  not  know  or  heed 
that  little  Eustacie  de  Ribaumont  was  to  make  her  escape 
that  night! 

The  trains  of  royalty  were  not  sumptuously  lodged. 
France  never  has  cared  so  much  for  comfort  as  for  display. 
The  waiting-lady  of  the  bed-chamber  slept  in  the  anteroom 
of  her  mistress;  the  others,  however  high  their  rank,  were 
closely  herded  together  up  a  winding  stair  leadijig  to  a  small 
passage,  with  tiny,  cell-like  recesses,  wherein  the  demoiselles 
slei^t,  often  with  their  maids,  and  then  dressed  themselves 
in  the  space  afforded  by  the  passage.  Eustacie's  cell  was 
nearly  at  the  end  of  the  gallery,  and,  exchanging  ' '  good- 
nights  "  with  her  companions,  she  j)roceeded  to  her  recess, 
where  she  expected  to  find  Veronique  ready  to  adjust  her 
dress.  Veronique,  however,  was  missing;  but  anxious  to 
lose  no  time,  she  had  taken  off  her  delicate  white  satin 
farthingale  to  change  it  for  an  unobtrusive  dark  woolen 
kirtle,  when,  to  her  surprise  and  dismay,  a  loud  creaking, 
growling  sound  made  itself  heard  outside  the  door  at  the 
other  end.  Half  a  dozen  heads  came  out  of  their  cells; 
half  a  dozen  voices  asked  and  answered  the  question, 
"  What  is  it?"  "  They  are  bolting  our  door  outside."  But 
only  Eustacie  sped  like  lightning  along  the  passage,  pulled 


THE    rnAPLKT    OF    PKARLS.  113 

at  the  dooi%  and  cried,  "Open!  Ojien,  I  say!"  No  an- 
swer, but  tlie  other  bolt  creaked. 

"  You  mistake,  concierge!  AVe  are  never  bolted  in!  My 
maid  is  shut  out/' 

No  answer,  but  the  step  retreated,  Eustacie  clasped  her 
hands  witli  a  cry  that  slie  conld  hardly  have  rei^ressed,  but 
which  she  regretted  the  next  moment. 

Gabrielle  de  Limeuil  hiughed.  "  "What,  mademoiselle, 
are  you  afraid  they  will  not  let  us  out  to-morrow?" 

"  My  maid!"  murmured  Eustacie,  recollecting  that  she 
must  give  a  color  to  her  distress. 

"  All!  jjerhaj^s  she  will  summon  old  Pierre  to  ojDcn  for 
us." 

This  suggestion  somewhat  consoled  Eustacie,  and  she 
stood  intently  listening  for  Veronique's  step,  wishing  that 
her  companions  would  hold  their  peace;  but  the  adventure 
amused  them,  and  they  discussed  whether  it  were  a  blunder 
of  the  concierge,  or  a  piece  of  prudery  of  Mme.  la  Com- 
tesse,  or,  after  all,  a  precaution.  The  palace  so  full  of 
strange  pcoj)le,  who  could  say  what  might  bappen?  And 
there  was  a  talk  of  a  conspiracy  of  the  Huguenots.  At  any 
rate,  everyone  was  too  much  frightened  to  go  to  sleep,  and, 
some  sitting  on  the  floor,  some  on  a  chest,  some  on  a  bed, 
the  girls  huddled  together  in  Gabrielle  de  Limeuil's  recess, 
tbe  nearest  to  the  door,  and  one  after  another  related  hor- 
rible tales  of  blood,  murder  and  vengeance — then,  alas! 
only  too  frequent  occurrences  in  their  unhappy  land — each 
bringing  some  frightful  contribution  from  her  own 
province,  each  enhancing  upon  the  last-told  story,  and  ever 
and  anon  pausing  with  bated  breath  at  some  fancied  sound, 
or  supposed  start  of  one  of  the  others;  then  clinging  close 
together,  and  renewing  the  ghastly  anecdote,  at  first  in  a 
hushed  voice  that  grew  louder  with  the  interest  of  the 
story.  Eustacie  alone  would  not  join  the  cluster.  Her 
cloak  round  her  shoulders,  she  stood  with  her  back  against 
the  door,  reiidy  to  profit  by  the  slightest  indication  outside 
of  a  step  that  migbt  lead  to  her  release,  or  at  least  enable 
her  to  communicate  with  Veronique;  longing  ardentl}''  that 
her  companions  would  go  to  bed,  yet  unable  to  avoid 
listening  with  the  like  dreadful  fascination  to  each  of  the 
terrible  histories,  which  added  each  moment  to  the  nervous 
horror  of  the  whole  party.  Only  one,  a  dull  and  comjiosed 
girl,  felt  the  influence  of  weariness,  and  dozed  with  her  head 


114  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

in  her  companion's  lap;  but  she  was  awakened  by  one 
genaral  shudder  and  suppressed  cry  when  the  hoarse  clang 
of  a  bell  struck  on  the  ears  of  the  already  terrified,  excited 
maidens. 

"The  tocsin!  The  belief  St.  Germain!  Fire!  No,  a 
Huguenot  rising!  Fire!  Oh,  let  us  out!  Let  us  out! 
That  window!  Where  is  the  fire?  "Nowhere!  See  the 
lights!  Hark,  that  was  a  shot!  It  was  in  the  palace!  A 
heretic  rising!  Ah!  there  was  to  be  a  slaughter  of  the 
heretics!  I  beard  it  whispered.  Oh,  let  us  out!  Open  the 
door!" 

But  nobody  heard:  nobody  opened.  There  was  one  who 
stood  without  word  or  cry,  close  to  the  door — her  eyes 
dilated,  her  cheek  colorless,  her  whole  person,  soul  and 
body  alike,  concentrated  in  that  one  impulse  to  spring  for- 
ward the  first  moment  the  bolt  should  be  drawn.  But  still 
the  door  remained  fast  shut ! 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE  PALACE   OF   SLAUGHTER. 

A  human  shambles  with  blood-reeking  floor. 

Miss  Swanwick,  yEscli.  Agamemnon. 

The  door  was  opened  at  last,  but  not  till  full  daylight. 
It  found  Eustacie  as  ready  to  rush  forth,  past  all  resistance, 
as  she  had  been  the  night  before,  and  she  was  already  in 
the  door-way  when  her  maid  Veronique,  her  face  swollen 
with  weeping,  caught  her  by  the  hands  and  imjDlored  her  to 
turn  bacK  and  listen. 

And  words  about  a  rising  of  the  Huguenots,  a  general 
destruction,  corpses  lying  in  the  court — were  already  pass- 
ing between  the  other  maidens  and  the  concierge.  Eustacie 
turned  upon  her  servant;  "  Veronique,  what  means  it? 
AVhere  is  he?" 

"Alas!  alas!  Ah!  mademoiselle,  do  but  lie  down!  Woe 
is  me!     I  saw  it  all!     Lie  down,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

"  Tell!  I  will  not  move  till  jou  have  told  me  where  my 
husband  is,"  said  Eustacie,  gazing  with  eyes  that  seemed 
to  Veronique  turned  to  stone. 

"  Ah!  my  lady — my  dear  lady!  I  was  on  the  turn  of  the 
stairs,  and  saw  all.     The  traitor — th_e  Chevaher  Narcisse — 


THE    CIIAPLET    OF    TEAKLS.  115 

camo  on  liim,  cloaked  like  you — and — shot  liim  dead — with, 
oh,  such  cruel  words  of  mockery!  Oh!  woe  the  day!  Stay, 
stay,  dear  lady,  the  jjlace  is  all  blood — they  are  slaying  them 
all — all  the  Huguenots!  Will  no  one  stop  her? — made- 
moiselle— ma'  m  'selle ! — ' ' 

For  Eustacie  no  sooner  gathered  the  sense  of  Veronique's 
words  than  she  darted  suddenly  forward,  and  was  in  a  few 
seconds  more  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  There,  indeed,  lay 
a  pool  of  dark  gore,  and  almost  in  it  Berenger's  black  vel- 
vet cap,  with  the  heron  plume.  Eustacie,  with  a  low  cry, 
snatched  it  up,  continued  her  headlong  course  along  the 
corridor,  swiftly  as  a  bird,  Veronique  following,  and  vainly 
shrieking  to  her  to  stop.  Diane,  ajDjoearing  at  the  other 
end  of  the  gallery,  saw  but  for  a  moment  the  little  figure, 
with  the  cloak  gathered  round  her  neck,  and  floating  be- 
hind her,  understood  Veronique's  cry  and  joined  in  the 
chase  across  hall  and  gallery,  where  more  stains  were  to  bo 
seen,  even  down  to  the  marble  stairs,  every  steji  slip2:)ery 
with  blood.  Others  there  were  who  saw  and  stood  aghast, 
not  understanding  the  apparition  that  flitted  on  so  swiftly, 
never  pausing  till  at  the  great  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
she  encountered  a  gigantic  Scottish  archer,  armed  to  the 
teeth.  She  touched  his  arm,  and  standing  with  folded 
arms,  looked  up  and  said,  "  Good  soldier,  kill  me!  I  am 
a  Huguenot!" 

"  Stop  her!  bring  her  back!"  cried  Diane  from  behind. 
''  It  is  Mademoiselle  de  Nid-de-Merle!" 

"  No,  no!  My  husband  is  Huguenot!  I  am  a  Hugue- 
not! Let  them  kill  me,  I  say!" — struggling  with  Diane, 
who  had  now  come  up  with  her,  and  was  trying  to  draw 
her  back. 

"  Puir  lassie!"  muttered  the  stout  Scotsman  to  himself, 
"  ihis  fearsome  night  has  driven  her  demented." 

l?ut,  like  a  true  sentinel,  he  moved  neither  hand  nor  foot 
to  interfere,  as  shaking  herself  loose  from  Diane,  she  was 
springing  down  the  stej^s  into  the  court,  when  at  that  mo- 
ment the  young  Abbe  de  Mericour  was  seen  advancing, 
pale,  breathless,  horror-struck,  and  to  him  Diane  shrieked 
to  arrest  the  headlong  course.  He  obeyed,  seeing  the  wild 
distraction  of  the  white  face  and  widely  glaring  eyes,  took 
her  by  both  hands,  and  held  her  in  a  firm  grasp,  saying, 
"  Alas,  lady,  you  can  not  go  out.  It  is  no  sight  for  any 
one. " 


116  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  They  are  killing  tlie  Protestants/' she  said;  "I  am 
one!     Let  me  find  them  and  die." 

A  strong  effort  to  free  herself  ensued,  but  it  was  so  sud- 
denly succeeded  by  a  swoon  that  the  abbe  could  scarcely 
save  her  from  dropping  on  the  ste2:)S.  Diane  begged  him 
to  carry  her  in,  since  they  were  in  full  view  of  men-at-arms 
in  the  court,  and,  frightful  to  say,  of  some  of  the  ladies  of 
the  palace,  who,  in  the  frenzy  of  that  dreadful  time,  had 
actually  come  down  to  examine  the  half-stripped  corpses  of 
the  men  with  whom  they  had  jested  not  twelve  hours  be- 
fore. 

"Ah!  it  is  no  wonder,"  said  the  youthful  abbe,  as  he 
tenderly  lifted  the  inanimate  figure.  "This  has  been  a 
night  of  horrors.  I  was  coming  in  haste  to  know  whether 
the  king  knows  of  this  frightful  j^lot  of  Monsieur  de  Guise, 
and  the  bloody  work  that  is  passing  in  Paris." 

"The  king!"  exclaimed  Diane,  "  Monsieur  1 'Abbe,  do 
you  knowAvhere  he  is  now?  In  the  balcony  overlooking  the 
river,  taking  aim  at  the  fugitives!  Take  care!  Even  your 
soutane  would  not  save  you  if  Monsieur  d'O  and  his  crew 
heard  you.  But  I  must  i^ray  you  to  aid  me  with  this  jjoor 
child!     I  dread  that  her  wild  cries  should  bo  heard." 

The  abbe,  struck  dumb  with  horror,  silently  olieyed  Mile. 
de  Ribaumont,  and  brought  the  still  insensible  Eustacie  to 
the  chamber,  now  deserted  by  all  the  young  ladies.  lie 
laid  her  on  her  bed,  and  finding  he  could  do  no  more,  left 
her  to  her  cousin  and  her  maid. 

The  poor  child  had  been  unwell  and  feverish  ever  since 
the  mask,  and  the  sus^^ense  of  these  few  days  with  the 
tension  of  that  horrible  night  had  prostrated  her.  She  only 
awoke  from  her  swoon  to  turn  her  head  from  the  light  and 
refuse  to  be  sjjoken  to. 

"  But,  Eustacie,  child,  listen;  this  is  all  in  vain — he 
lives,"  said  Diane. 

"  Weary  me  not  with  falsehoods,"  faintly  said  Eustacie. 

"  No!  no!  no!  They  meant  to  hinder  your  flight, 
but—" 

"  They  knew  of  it?"  cried  Eustacie,  sitting  up  suddenly. 
"Then  you  told  them.  Go — go;  let  me  never  see  you 
more!     You  have  been  his  death!" 

"  Listeii!  I  am  sure  he  lives!  What!  would  they  in- 
jiu-e  one  whom  my  father  loved?    I  beard  my  father  say  lie 


THK  CFAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  11? 

would  not  have  him  liurt.  Depend  njwn  it,  ho  is  safe  on 
his  way  to  England." 

Eustacie  gave  a  short  but  frightful  hysterical  laugh,  and 
pohited  to  Veronique.   ''  She  saw  it,"  she  said;  "  ask  her. ^•' 

"  Saw  what?'"  said  Diane,  turning  fiercely  on  Veronique. 
"  What  vile  deceit  have  you  half  killed  your  lady  with?" 

"  Alas!  mademoiselle,  I  did  but  tell  her  what  I  had 
seen,""  sighed  Veronique,  trembling. 

"  Tell  me!"  said  Diane,  passionately. 

"  Yes,  everything,"  said  Eustacie,  sitting  up. 

"  Ah!  mademoiselle,  it  will  make  you  ill  again."" 

"  I  will  be  ill — I  will  die!  Heaven's  slaying  is  better 
than  man"s.     Tell  her  how  you  saw  Narcisse. "" 

"  False  girl!""  burst  out  Diane. 

"  No,  no,""  cried  Veronique.  "  Oh,  j^ardon  me,  made- 
moiselle, I  could  not  help  it."" 

In  spite  of  her  reluctance,  she  was  forced  to  tell  that  she 
had  found  herself  locked  out  of  her  mistress's  room,  and 
after  losing  much  time  in  searching  for  the  concierge, 
learned  that  the  ladies  were  locked  uji  by  order  of  the  queen- 
mother,  and  was  strongly  advised  not  to  be  running  about 
the  passages.  After  a  time,  however,  while  sitting  with 
the  concierge's  wife,  she  heard  such  frightful  whispers  from 
men  with  white  badges,  who  were  admitted  one  by  one  by 
the  porter,  and  all  led  silently  to  a  snuxll  lower  room,  that 
she  resolved  on  seeking  out  the  baron "s  servant,  and  send- 
ing him  to  warn  his  master,  while  she  would  take  up  her 
station  at  her  lady's  door.  She  found  Osbert,  and  with 
him  was  ascending  a  narrow  spiral  leading  from  the  offices 
— she,  unfortunately,  the  foremost.  As  she  came  to  the 
top,  a  scuffle  was  going  on— four  men  had  thrown  them- 
selves upon  one,  and  a  torch  distinctly  showed  her  the 
younger  chevalier  holding  a  pistol  to  the  cheek  of  the  fallen 
man,  and  she  heard  the  words,  "  Le  haiser  d'  Eiistacie! 
Je  te  harhouillerai  ce  cMen  cle  visage,"  and  at  the  same 
moment  the  pistol  was  discharged.  She  s[)rung  back,  over- 
setting, as  she  believed,  Osbert,  and  fled  shrieking  to  the 
room  of  the  concierge,  who  shut  her  in  till  morning. 

"And  how  —  how,"  stammered  Diane,  "should  you 
know  it  was  the  baron?" 

Eustacie,  with  a  death-like  look,  showed  for  a  moment 
what  even  in  her  swoon  she  had  held  clinched  to  her  bosom^ 
the  velvet  cap  soaked  with  blood. 


118  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  Besides/'  added  Veroiiique,  resolved  to  defend  her  as- 
sertion, "  whom  else  Avould  the  words  suit?  Besides,  are 
not  all  the  heretic  gentlemen  dead?  AVhy,  as  I  sat  there  in 
the  porter's  room,  I  hoard  Monsieur  d'O  cidl  each  one  of 
them  by  name,  one  after  the  other,  into  the  court,  and 
there  the  white  sleeves  cut  them  down  or  jDistolcd  them 
like  shee23  for  the  slaughter.  They  lie  all  out  there  on  the 
terrace  like  so  many  carcases  at  market  ready  for  winter 
salting." 

''  All  slain?"  said  Eustacie,  dreamily. 

"  All  except  those  that  the  king  called  into  his  own  ijarde 
rohe." 

"  Then,  I  slew  him!"     Eustacie  sunk  back. 

"  1  tell  you,  child,"  said  Diane,  almost  angrily,  "  he 
lives.  Not  a  hair  of  liis  head  was  to  be  hurt!  The  girl 
deceives  you." 

But  Eustacie  had  again  become  insensible,  and  awoke 
delirious,  entreating  to  have  the  door  opened,  and  fancying 
herself  still  on  the  revolving  elysium,  "  Oh,  demons! 
demons,  have  pity!"  was  her  cry. 

Diane's  soothings  were  like  speaking  to  the  winds;  and 
at  last  she  saw  the  necessity  of  calling  in  further  aid;  but 
afraid  of  the  scandal  that  the  poor  girl's  raving  accusations 
might  create,  she  would  not  send  for  the  Huguenot  surgeon, 
Ambroise  Pare,  whom  the  king  had  carefully  secured  in  his 
own  apartments,  but  employed  one  of  the  barber  valets  of 
the  queen-mother's  liousehold.  Poor  Eustacie  was  well 
pleased  to  see  her  blood  flowing,  and  sunk  back  on  her 
pillow  murmuring  that  she  had  confessed  her  husband's 
faith,  and  would  soon  be  one  with  him,  and  Diane  feared 
for  a  moment  lest  the  swoon  should  indeed  be  death. 

The  bleeding  was  so  far  effectual  that  it  diminished  the 
fever,  and  Eustacie  became  rational  again  when  she  had 
dozed  and  wakened,  but  she  was  little  able  or  willing  to 
speak,  and  would  not  so  much  as  listen  to  Diane's  assevera- 
tions that  Veronique  had  made  a  frightful  error,  and  that 
the  baron  would  prove  to  be  alive.  Whether  it  were  that 
the  admission  that  Diane  had  known  of  the  project  for 
preventing  the  elo2:)ement  that  invalidated  her  words,  or 
whether  the  sufferer's  instinct  made  her  believe  Veronique 's 
testimony  rather  than  her  cousin's  assurances,  it  was  all 
"  cramming  words  into  her  ear  against  the  stomach  of  her 
sense/' and  she  turned  away  from  them  with  a  2)it<-'t>uSj 


THE    CHAPLET    OE    PEARLS.  119 

petulant  hopelessness:  "  Could  tlicy  ]iot  even  let  licr  alone 
to  die  in  peace!" 

Diane  was  almost  angered  at  tliis  little  silly  child  being 
in  such  an  agony  of  sorrow — she,  who  could  never  have 
known  how  to  love  him.  And  after  all  this  persistent  grief 
was  willfully  thrown  away.  For  Diane  spoke  in  perfect 
sincerity  when  she  taxed  Veronique  with  an  injurious,  bar- 
barous mistake.  She  knew  her  father's  strong  aversion  to 
violence,  and  the  real  j^redilection  that  Berenger's  good 
mien,  respectful  manners,  and  liberal  usage  had  won  from 
him,  and  she  believed  he  had  much  rather  the  youth  lived, 
provided  he  were  inoffensive.  No  doubt  a  little  force  had 
been  necessary  to  kidnaj)  one  so  tall,  active,  and  deter- 
mined, and  Veronique  had  nnxde  up  her  horrible  tale  after 
the  usual  custom  of  waitiug-maids. 

Nothing  else  should  be  true.  Did  she  think  otherwise, 
she  should  be  even  more  frantic  than  Eustacie!  Why,  it 
would  be  her  own  doing!  She  had  betrayed  the  day  of  the 
escape — she  had  held  aloof  from  warning.  There  was 
pleasure  in  securing  Nid-de-Merle  for  her  brother,  pleasure 
ni  balking  the  foolish  child  who  had  won  the  heart  that  dis- 
regarded her.  Nay,  there  might  have  been  even  pleasure 
in  the  destruction  of  the  scorner  of  her  charms — the  foe  of 
her  house — there  might  have  been  jjride  in  receiving  Queen 
Catherme's  dexterous  hint  that  she  had  been  an  apt  pupil 
if  the  young  baron  had  only  been  something  different — 
something  less  fair,  gracious,  bright  and  pure.  One  bright 
angel  seemed  to  have  flitted  across  her  i)ath,  and  notliing 
should  induce  her  to  believe  she  had  destroyed  him. 

The  stripped  corpses  of  the  murdered  Iluguenots  of  the 
palace  had  been  laid  in  a  line  on  the  terrace,  and  the  ladies 
who  had  laughed  with  them  the  night  before  went  to  in- 
spect them  in  death.  A  few  remnants  of  Soeur  Monique's 
influence  would  have  withheld  Diane,  but  that  a  frenzy  of 
suspense  was  growing  on  her.  She  must  see  for  herself. 
If  it  were  so,  she  must  secure  a  fragment  of  the  shining 
flaxen  hair,  if  only  as  a  token  that  anything  so  pure  and 
bright  had  walked  the  earth. 

She  went  on  the  horrible  quest,  shrinking  where  others 
stared.  For  it  was  a  ])itiless  time,  and  the  squadron  of  the 
queen-mother  were  as  lost  to  womanhood  as  the  fishwomen 
of  two  centuries  later.  But  Diane  saw  no  corpse  at  once  so 
tall,  so  young  and  so  fair,  though  blonde  Normans  and  blue- 


130  THE  CHAPLUT  OF  PEARLS. 

blooded  Fra,nk.s^  VmV^-,  scarce  sixteen  and  stalwart  warriors, 
lay  in  one  molanclioly  rank.  She  at  least  bore  away  the 
certainty  that  the  Englisli  Ribanmont  was  not  there;  and 
if  not,  he  must  be  safe !  She  could  obtain  no  further  certain- 
ty, for  she  knew  that  she  must  not  expect  to  see  either  her  fa- 
ther or  brother.  There  was  a  panic  throughout  the  city. 
All  Paris  imagined  that  the  Huguejiots  were  on  the  point 
of  rising  and  slaying  all  the  Catholics,  and,  with  the  sav- 
agery of  alarmed  cowardice,  the  citizens  and  the  mob  were 
assisting  the  armed  bands  of  the  Dukes  of  Anjou  and  Guise 
to  complete  the  slaughter,  dragging  their  lodgers  from  their 
hiding-2:)]aces,  and  denouncing  all  whom  they  suspected  of 
reluctance  to  mass  and  confession.  But  on  the  Monday, 
Diane  was  able  to  send  an  urgent  message  to  her  father 
that  he  must  come  to  speak  with  her,  for  Mile,  de  Md-de- 
Merle  was  extremely  ill.  She  would  meet  him  in  the  gar- 
den after  mornhig  mass. 

There  accordingly,  when  she  stepped  forth  j^ale,  rigid, 
but  stately,  with  her  large  fan  in  her  hand  to  servo  as  a 
parasol,  she  met  both  him  and  her  brother.  She  was  for  a 
moment  sorry,  for  she  had  much  power  over  her  father, 
while  she  was  afraid  of  lier  brother's  sarcastic  tongue  and 
eye;  she  knew  he  never  scrupled  to  sting  her  wherever  she 
was  most  sensitive,  and  she  would  have  been  able  to  extract 
much  more  from  her  father  in  his  absence.  France  has 
never  been  without  a  tendency  to  joroduce  the  tiger-mon- 
key, or  ferocious  fop;  and  the  genus  was  in  its  full  ascend- 
ency under  the  sons  of  Catherine  de  Medicis,  when  the  dregs 
of  Francois  the  First's  pseiuJo-chiYalry  were  not  extinct — 
when  horrible,  retaliating  civil  wars  of  extermination  Inid 
made  life  cheap;  nefarious  j^ersecutions  had  hardened  the 
heart  and  steeled  the  eye,  and  the  licentiousness  promoted 
by  the  shifty  queen  as  one  of  her  instruments  of  govern- 
ment had  darkened  the  whole  understanding.  The  most 
hateful  heights  of  perfidy,  effeminacy,  and  hypocrisy  were 
not  reached  till  poor  Charles  IX.,  who  only  committed 
crimes  on  compulsion,  was  in  his  grave,  and  Henry  III.  on 
the  throne ;  but  Narcisse  de  Eibaumont  was  one  of  the  choice 
companions  of  the  latter,  and  after  the  night  and  day  of 
murder  now  stood  before  his  sister  with  scented  hair  and 
handkerchief — the  last,  laced,  delicately  held  by  a  hand  in 
an  embroidered  glove — emerald  j)endants  in  his  ears,  a 
mustache  twisted  into  sharp  points  and  turned  up  like  an 


TTXV.    ClTAl'LET    OF    T'EAHLS.  131 

eternal  sardonic  smilo,  ami  ho  kd  a  littlo  white  poodle  hy  a 
ro.se-colorcd  ribl)nn. 

"  Well,  sister/^  he  said,  as  ho  went  through  the  motions 
of  kissing  her  hand,  and  she  embraced  her  father;  "  so  you 
don't  know  how  to  deal  with  megrims  and.  transports?'' 

"  Father/'  said  Diane,  not  vouchsafing  any  attention, 
*'  unless  you  can  send  her  some  assurance  of  his  life,  I  will 
not  answer  for  the  consequences/' 

I^arcisse  laughed:  "  Take  her  this  dog,  with  my  compli- 
ments.    That  is  the  way  to  deal  with  such  a  child  as  that." 

"You  do  not  know  what  you  say,  brother,"  answered 
Diane  witii  dignity.     "  It  goes  deeper  tlian  that. " 

"The  deeper  it  goes,  chikl,-"said  the  elder  chevalier, 
"  the  better  it  is  that  she  should  be  undeceived  as  soon  as 
possible.     She  will  recover,  and  be  amenable  the  sooner." 

"  Then  he  lives,  father?"  exclaimed  Diane.  "  lie  lives, 
thougli  she  is  not  to  hear  it — say—" 

"  What  know  I?"  said  the  old  man  evasively.  "  On  a 
night  of  confusion  many  mischances  are  sure  to  occur! 
Lurking  in  the  jxdace  at  the  very  moment  when  there  was 
a  search  for  the  conspirators,  it  would  have  been  a  miracle 
iial  the  j)oor  young  man  escaped." 

Diane  turned  still  whiter.  "Then,"  she  said,  "  tliat 
was  why  you  made  monsieur  put  Eustacie  into  the  ballet, 
that  they  might  not  go  on  Wednesday!" 

"  It  was  well  hinted  by  you,  daughter.  W"e  could  not 
have  effectually  stopped  them  on  Wednesday  without  mak- 
ing a  scandal." 

"  Once  more,"  said  Diane,  gasping,  though  still  reso- 
lute; "is  not  the  story  told  by  Eustacie 's  woman  false — 
that  she  saw  him — j^i^'^toled— by  you,  brother?" 

"  Peste!"  cried  Narcisse.  "  Was  the  prying  wench  there? 
I  thought  the  little  one  might  be  satisfied  that  he  had 
neighbor's  fare.  No  matter;  what  is  done  for  one's  heaux 
yeux  is  easily  pardoned — and  if  not,  why,  I  have  her  all 
the  same!" 

"  Nevertheless,  daughter,"  said  the  chevalier  gravely, 
"  the  woman  must  be  silenced.  Either  she  must  be  sent 
home,  or  taught  so  to  swear  to  having  been  mistaken,  that 
la  jK'tilc  may  acquit  your  brother!  But  what  now,  my 
daughter?'^ 

"  She   is   livid !'^   exclaimed    Narcisse,    with   his   sneer. 


133  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS. 

"What,   sir,   did  not  you  know  she  was  smitten  with  the 
jK'ach  on  the  top  of  a  pole?" 

"Enough,  brother,"  said  Diane,  recovering  herself 
enough  to  speak  hoarsely,  but  with  hard  dignity.  "  You 
have  slain — you  need  not  insult,  one  whom  j-ou  have  lost 
the  power  of  nnderstandiug!''^ 

"  (Shallow  school-l;)oys  certainly  form  no  part  of  my  study, 
save  to  kick  them  down-stairs  when  they  grow  impudent,"' 
said  jSTarcisse,  coolly.  "It  is  only  women  who  think  what 
is  long  must  be  grand." 

"  Come,  children,  no  disj^utcs, "  said  the  chevalier.  "  Of 
course  we  regret  that  so  fine  a  youth  mixed  himself  np  with 
the  enemies  of  the  kingdom,  like  the  stork  among  the 
S2)arrows.  Both  Diane  and  I  are  sorry  for  the  necessity; 
but  remember,  child,  that  when  he  was  interfering  between 
your  brother  and  his  just  right  of  inheritance  and  destined 
Avife,  he  could  not  but  draw  such  a  fate  on  himself.  Now 
rll  is  smooth,  the  estates  will  be  nnitcd  in  their  true  head, 
and  you — ^you  too,  my  child,  will  be  provided  for  as  suits 
your  name.  All  that  is  needed  is  to  soothe  the  little  one, 
so  as  to  hinder  her  from  making  an  outcry- — and  silence^ 
the  maid;  my  child  will  do  her  best  for  her  fathei-'s  sake, 
and  that  of  her  family. " 

Diane  was  less  demonstrative  than  most  of  her  country- 
women. She  had  had  time  to  recollect  the  uselessness  of 
e-ivino;  vent  to  her  indio-nant  anouish,  and  her  brother's 
derisive  look  held  her  back.  The  family  tactics,  from  force 
of  habit,  recurred  to  her;  she  made  no  further  objection  to 
lier  father's  commands;  but  when  her  father  and  brother 
parted  with  her,  she  tottered  into  the  now  empty  chajiel, 
threw  herself  down,  with  her  burning  forehead  on  the  stone 
step,  and  so  lay  for  hours.  It  was  not  in  prayer.  It  was  be- 
cause it  was  the  only  j^lace  where  she  could  be  alone.  To 
lier,  heaven  above  and  earth  below  seemed  alike  full  of  de- 
spair, darkness,  and  cruel  habitations,  and  she  lay  like  one 
sick  with  misery  and  repugnance  to  the  life  and  world  that 
lay  before  her — the  hard  world  that  had  quenched  that  one 
fair  light  and  mocked  her  pity.  It  was  misery  of  solitude, 
and  yet  no  thought  crossed  her  of  going  to  weep  and  sym- 
pathize with  the  other  sufferer.  No;  rivalry  and  jealousy 
came  in  there!  Eustace  viewed  herself  as  his  wife,  and  the 
very  thought  that  she  had  been  deliberately  preferred  and 
had  enjoyed  her   triumph  hardened  Diane's  heart  against 


THE    OIIAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  193 

her.  Nay,  the  open  violence  and  abandonment  of  her  grief 
seemed  to  the  more  restrained  and  concentrated  nature  of 
her  elder  a  sign  of  shallowness  and  want  of  durability;  and 
in  a  certain  contemptuous  envy  at  her  professing  a  right  to 
mourn,  Diane  never  even  reconsidered  her  own  resolution 
to  play  out  her  father's  game,  consign  Eustacio  to  her  hus- 
band's murderer,  and  leave  her  to  console  herself  with 
bridal  splendors  and  a  clioice  of  admirers  from  all  the 
court. 

However,  for  the  2n'csent  Diane  would  rather  stay  away 
as  much  as  possible  from  the  sick-bed  of  the  poor  girl;  and 
when  an  apjn'oaching  step  forced  her  to  rouse  herself  and 
hurry  away  by  the  other  door  of  the  chapel,  she  did  indeed 
mount  to  the  ladies'  bed-chamber,  but  only  to  beckon 
Veronique  out  of  hearing,  and  ask  for  her  mistress. 

Just  the  same  still,  only  sleeping  to  have  feverish  dreams 
of  the  revolving  wheel  or  the  demons  grappling  her  hus- 
band, refusing  all  food  but  a  little  drink,  and  lying  silent 
excejjt  for  a  few  moans,  heedless  who  spoke  or  looked  at 
her. 

Diane  exj^lained  that  in  that  case  it  was  needless  to  conio 
to  her,  but  added,  with  ihe  vraisemhlancc  of  falsehood  in 
which  she  had  graduated  in  Catherine's  school,  "  Veronique, 
as  I  told  you,  you  Were  mistaken. " 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  if  Monsieur  Ic  Baron  lives,  she  will 
be  cured  at  once." 

"  Silly  girl,"  said  Diane,  giving  relief  to  her  pent-uj^ 
feeling  by  asperity  of  manner,  "  how  could  he  live  when 
you  and  your  intrigues  got  him  into  the  palace  on  such  a 
night?  Dead  he  is,  of  course;  but  it  was  your  own  treach- 
erous, mischievous  fancy  that  laid  it  on  my  brother.  He 
w\as  far  away  with  Monsieur  de  Guise  at  the  attack  on  the 
admiral.  It  was  some  of  monsieur's  grooms  you  saw. 
You  remember  she  had  brought  him  into  a  scrape  with 
Monsieur,  and  it  was  sure  to  be  remembered.  And  look 
you,  if  you  rejpeat  the  other  tale,  and  do  not  drive  it  out  of 
her  head,  you  need  not  look  to  be  long  with  her — no,  nor 
at  home.  My  father  will  have  no  one  there  to  cause  a 
Bcandal  by  an  evil  tongue. ' ' 

That  threat  convinced  Veronique  that  she  had  been 
right;  but  she,  too,  had  learned  lessons  at  the  Louvre,  and 
she  was  too  diplomatic  not  to  ask  pardon  for  lier  blunder, 
promise  to  contradict  it  when  her  mistress  could  listen,  and 


1^4  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

express  her  satisfaction  that  it  was  not  the  Chevalier  Nar- 
cisse — for  such  tilings  were  not  pleasant,,  as  she  justly  ob- 
served, in  families. 

About  noon  on  the  Tuesday,  the  Louvre  was  unusually 
tranquil.  All  the  world  had  gone  forth  to  a  procession  to 
Notre  Dame,  headed  by  the  king  and  all  the  royal  family, 
to  offer  thanksgiving  for  the  deliverance  of  the  country 
from  the  atrocious  conspiracy  of  the  Huguenots.  Eustacie's 
chamber  was  freed  from  the  bustle  of  all  the  maids-of-honor 
arraying  themst Ives,  and  adjusting  curls,  feathers,  ruffs 
and  jewels;  and  such  relief  as  she  was  capable  of  experienc- 
ing she  felt  in  the  quiet. 

Veronique  hoped  she  would  sleep,  and.  watched  like  a 
dragon  to  guard  against  any  disturbance,  springing  out 
with  ujjraised  finger  when  a  soft  gliding  step  and  rustling 
of  brocade  was  heard.  "  Does  she  sleej)?"  said  a  low 
voice;  and  Veronique,  in  the  pale  thin  face  with  tear- 
swollen  eyes  and  light  yellow  hair,  recognized  the  young 
queen.  "  My  good  girl,"  said  Elizabeth,  with  almost  a  be- 
seeching gesture,  "  let  me  see  her.  I  do  not  know  when 
again  I  may  be  able.'' 

Veronique  stood  aside,  with  the  lowest  possible  of  courte- 
sies, just  as  her  mistress  with  a  feeble,  weary  voice  mur- 
mured, "  Oh,  make  them  let  me  alone!" 

"My  poor,  poor  child,'' said  the  queen,  bending  over 
Eustacie,  while  her  brimming  eyes  let  the  tears  fall  fast, 
"  I  will  not  disturb  you  long,  but  I  could  not  help  it." 

"  Her  majesty!"  exclaimed  Eustacie,  oi^ening  wide  her 
eyes  in  amazement. 

"  My  dear,  suffer  me  here  a  little  moment,"  said  the 
meek  Elizabeth,  seating  herself  so  as  to  bring  her  face  near 
to  Eustacie 's;  "  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  seen  how  it  was 
with  you,  and  wejit  with  you." 

"Ah,  madame,  you  can  weep,"  said  Eustacie  slowly, 
looking  at  the  queen's  heavy  tearful  eyes  almost  with  won- 
der; "  but  I  do  not  weep  because  I  am  dying,  and  that  is 
better." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,  do  not  so  speak!"  exclaimed  the 
gentle  but  rather  dull  queen. 

"  Is  it  wrong?  Nay,  so  much  the  better — then  I  shall  be 
with  him,"  said  Eustacie  in  the  same  feeble  dreamy  man- 
ner, as  if  she  did  ]iot  understand  herself,  but  a  little  roused 
by  seeing  she  had  shocked  her  visitor.     "  I  would  not  be 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  125 

wicked.  He  was  all  bright  goodness  and  trutli:  but  his 
does  not  seem  to  be  goodness  that  brings  to  Heaven,  and  I 
do  not  want  to  be  in  the  heaven  of  these  crnel  false  men — 
I  think  it  wonld  go  round  and  round. "  She  shut  her  eyes 
as  if  to  steady  herself,  and  that  moment  seemed  to  give  her 
more  self -recollection,  for  looking  at  the  weeping,  troubled 
visitor,  she  exclaimed,  with  more  energy,  "  Oh  I  madame, 
it  must  be  a  dreadful  fancy!  Good  men  like  him  can  not 
be  shut  into  those  fiery  gates  with  the  torturing  devils.^' 

"Heaven  forbid !''  exclaimed  the  queen.  "My  2)oor, 
poor  child,  grieve  not  yourself  thus.  At  my  home,  my 
Austrian  home,  we  do  not  speak  in  this  dreadful  way.  My 
father  loves  and  honors  his  loyal  Protestants,  and  he  trusts 
that  the  good  God  accepts  their  holy  lives  in  His  unseen 
Church,  even  though  outwardly  they  are  separate  from  us. 
My  German  confessor  ever  said  so.  Oh!  child,  it  would  be 
too  frightful  if  we  deemed  that  all  those  souls  as  well  as 
bodies  perished  in  these  frightful  days.  Myself,  I  believe 
that  they  have  their  rewai'd  for  their  truth  and  constancy. '' 

Eustacie  caught  the  queen "s  iiand,  and  fondled  it  with 
delight,  as  though  those  words  had  veritably  opened  the 
gates  of  heaven  to  her  husband.  The  queen  went  on  in  her 
slow  gentle  manner,  the  very  tone  of  Avhicli  was  inexpressi- 
bly soothing  and  sympathetic:  "  Yes,  and  all  will  be  clear 
there.  No  more  violence.  At  home  our  good  men  think 
so,  and  the  king  will  think  the  same  when  these  cruel  coun- 
selors will  leave  him  to  himself;  and  I  ju'ay,  I  pray  day 
and  night,  that  God  will  not  lay  this  sin  to  his  account,  but 
open  his  eyes  to  rej)eut.  Forgive  him,  Eustacie,  and  pray 
for  him  too." 

"  The  king  would  have  saved  my  husband,  madame," 
returned  Eustacie.  "  He  bade  him  to  his  room.  It  was 
I,  unhajopy  I,  who  detained  him,  lest  our  flight  should  have 
been  hindered." 

The  queen  in  her  turn  kissed  Eustacie's  forehead  with 
eager  gratitude.  "  Oh,  little  one,  you  have  brought  a  drop 
of  comfort  to  a  heavy  heart.  Alas!  I  could  sometimes  feel 
you  to  be  a  happier  wife  than  I,  with  your  perfect  trust  in 
the  brave  pure-spirited  j^outh,  unwarped  by  these  wicked 
cruel  advisers.  I  loved  to  look  at  his  open  brow;  it  was  so 
like  our  bravest  German  Junkers.  And,  child,  we  thought, 
both  of  us,  to  have  brought  about  your  happiness;  but,  ah! 
it  has  but  caused  all  this  misery. " 


12G  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

*'  No,  no,  clearest  queen,"  said  Eustacie,  "  this  montb 
with  all  its  woes  has  been  joy — life!  Oh!  I  had  rather  lie 
here  and  die  for  his  loss  than  be  as  I  was  before  he  came. 
And  now — now,  you  have  given  him  to  me  for  all  eternity 
^f  but  I  am  lit  to  be  with  him!" 

Eustacie  had  revived  so  much  during  the  interview  that 
the  queen  could  not  believe  her  to  be  in  a  dying  state;  Init 
she  continued  very  ill,  the  low  fever  still  hanging  about  her, 
and  the  faintness  continual.  The  close  room,  the  turmoil 
of  its  many  inhabitants,  and  the  impossibility  of  quiet  alsG 
harassed  her  greatly,  and  Elizabeth  had  little  or  no  power 
of  making  any  other  arrangements  for  her  in  the  palace. 
Ladies  when  ill  were  taken  home,  and  this  poor  child  had 
no  home.  The  other  maids  of  honor  were  a  gentler,  sim- 
pler set  than  Catherine's  squadron,  and  were  far  from  un- 
kind; but  between  them  and  her,  who  had  so  lately  been 
the  brightest  child  of  them  all,  there  now  lay  that  great 
gulf.  ''7(7i  hahe  geleU  und  gdichet."  That  the  little 
blackbird,  as  they  nsed  to  call  her,  should  have  been  on  the 
verge  of  running  away  with  her  own  husband  was  a  half 
understood,  amusing  mystery  discussed  in  exaggerating 
prattle.  This  was  hushed  indeed,  in  the  presence  of  that 
crushed,  prostrate,  silent  sorrow;  but  there  was  still  an 
utter  incapacity  of  true  sympathy,  that  made  the  very  pres- 
ence of  so  many  oppressive,  even  when  they  were  not  in 
murmurs  discussing  the  ghastly  tidings  of  massacres  in 
other  cities,  and  the  fate  of  acquaintances. 

On  that  same  day,  the  queen  sent  for  Diane  to  consult  her 
about  the  sufferer.  Elizabeth  longed  to  place  her  in  her 
own  cabinet  and  attend  on  her  herself;  but  she  was  afraid 
to  do  this,  as  the  unhappy  king  was  in  such  a  frenzied 
mood,  and  so  constantly  excited  by  his  brother  and  rxuise, 
that  it  was  possible  that  some  half-delirious  comjilaint  from 
poor  Eustacie  might  lead  to  serious  consequences.  Indeed, 
Elizabeth,  though  in  no  state  to  bear  agitation,  was  ab- 
sorbed in  her  endeavor  to  prevent  him  from  adding  blood 
to  blood,  and  a  few  days  later  actually  saved  the  lives  of  the 
King  of  Navarre  and  Prince  of  Oonde,  by  throwing  herself 
before  him  half-dressed,  and  tearing  his  weapon  froin  his 
hand.  Her  only  hope  was  that  if  she  should  give  Inm  a 
son,  her  influence  for  mercy  would  revive  with  his  joy. 
Meantime  she  was  powerless,  and  she  could  only  devise  tho 
sending  the  poor  little  sufferer  to  a  convent,  where  the 


TU::    CITArLET    OF    PEAKLS.  127 

RHUS  might  tend  her  till  she  was  restored  to  heallh  and 
composure.  Diiine  acquiesced,  but  proposed  sending  for 
her  father,  and  he  was  accordingly  summoned.  Diane  saw 
him  first  alone,  and  both  agreed  that  he  had  better  take 
Eustacie  to  Bellaise,  where  her  aunt  would  take  good  care 
of  her,  and  in  a  few  months  she  would  no  doubt  be  weary 
enough  of  the  country  to  be  in  raptures  to  return  to  Paris 
on  any  terms. 

Yet  even  as  Diane  said  this,  a  sort  of  longing  for  the 
solitude  of  the  woods  of  Nid-de-Merle  came  over  her,  a 
recollection  of  the  good  Sister  Monique,  at  whose  knee  she 
had  breathed  somewhat  of  the  free  pure  air  that  her  mur- 
dered cousin  had  brought  with  him;  a  sense  that  there 
she  could  pour  forth  her  sorrow.  She  offered  herself  at  once 
to  go  with  Eustacie. 

"  No,  no,  my  daughter,"  said  the  chevalier,  *'  that  is 
unnecessar}^  There  is  pleasanter  employment  for  you.  I 
told  you  that  your  position  was  secured.  Here  is  a  brilliant 
offer — Monsieur  de  Selinville." 

"  Le  honl'.O'nme  de  Selinville  !"  exclaimed  Diane,  feeling 
rather  as  if  the  compensation  were  like  the  little  dog  offered 
to  Eustacie. 

"  Know  ye  not  that  his  two  heretic  nephews  jjerished  the 
other  night?  He  is  now  the  head  of  his  name,  the  mar- 
quis, the  only  one  left  of  his  house." 

"  He  begins  earl}","  said  Diane. 

"  An  oltl  soldier,  my  daughter,  scarce  sta3's  to  count  the 
fallen.  He  has  no  time  to  lose.  He  is  sixty,  with  a  dam- 
aged constitution.  It  will  be  but  the  affair  of  a  few  years, 
and  then  will  my  beautiful  marquise  be  free  to  choose  for 
herself.  I  shall  go  from  the  young  queen  to  obtain  per- 
mission from  the  queen-mother.^' 

No  question  was  asked.  Diane  never  even  thought  ob- 
jection possible.  It  was  a  close  to  that  present  life  which 
she  had  begun  to  loathe:  it  gave  comparative  liberty.  It 
would  dull  and  confuse  her  heart-sick  ])aiii,  and  give  her  a 
certain  superiority  to  her  brother.  Moreover,  it  would 
satisfy  the  old  father,  whom  she  really  loved.  Marriage 
with  a  worn-out  old  man  was  a  simple  step  to  full  display 
for  young  ladies  without  fortune. 

The  chevalier  told  Queen  Elizabeth  his  jourpose  of  plac- 
ing his  niece  in  the  family  convent,  under  the  care  of  her 
aunt,  the  abbess,  in  a  foundation  endowed  by  her  own  fam- 


128  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

ily  on  the  borders  of  her  own  estate.  Elizabeth  would  have 
liked  to  keep  her  nearer,  but  could  not  but  own  tliat  the 
change  to  the  scenes  of  her  childhood  might  be  more  bene- 
ficial than  a  residence  in  a  nunnery  at  Paris,  and  the  cheva- 
lier spoke  of  his  niece  with  a  tender  solicitude  that  gained 
the  queen's  heart.  She  consented,  only  stipulating  that 
Eustacie's  real  wishes  should  be  ascertained,  and  herself 
again  made  the  exertion  of  visiting  the  patient  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

Eustacie  had  been  partly  dressed,  and  was  lying  as  near 
as  she  could  to  the  narrow  window.  The  queen  would  not 
let  her  move,  but  took  her  damp  languid  hand,  and  de- 
tailed her  uncle's  proj^osal.  It  was  plain  that  it  was  not 
utterly  distasteful.  "  Soeur  Monique,"  she  said,  "  Soeur 
Monique  would  sing  hymns  to  me,  and  then  I  should  not 
see  the  imps  at  night." 

"Poor  child!  And  you  would  like  to  go?  You  could 
bear  the  journey?" 

"  It  would  be  in  the  air!  And  then  I  should  not  smell 
blood — blood!"  And  her  cheeks  became  whiter  again,  if 
possible. 

"  Then  you  would  not  rather  be  at  the  Carmelites,  or 
Mftubuisson,  near  me?" 

"Ah!  madame,  there  would  not  be  Soeur  Monique.  If 
the  journey  would  only  make  me  die,  as  soon  as  I  came, 
with  Soeur  Monique  to  hush  me^  and  keep  off  dreadful 
images!" 

"  Dear  child,  you  should  put  away  the  thought  of  dying. 
May  be  you  are  to  live,  that  your  prayers  may  win  salva- 
tion for  the  soul  of  him  you  love." 

"  Oh,  then!  I  should  like  to  go  into  a  convent  so  strict 
■^so  strict,"  cried  Eustacie,  with  renewed  vigor.  "  Bel- 
laise  is  nothing  like  strict  enough.  Does  your  majesty  in- 
deed think  that  my  prayers  will  aid  him?" 

"  Alas!  what  hope  could  we  have  but  in  praying?"  said 
Elizabeth,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  Little  one,  we  will  be 
joined  at  least  in  our  prayers  and  intercessions:  thou  wilt 
not  forget  in  thine  one  who  yet  lives,  unhappier  than  all!" 

"  And,  oh,  my  good,  my  holy  queen,  will  yen  indeed 
pray  for  him — my  husband?  He  was  so  good,  his  faith 
can  surely  not  long  be  reckoned  against  him.  He  did  not 
believe  in  purgatory!  Perhaps — "  Then  frowning  with  a 
difficulty  far  beyond  a  fevur-clouded  brain,  she  concluded 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  1J39 

— "  At  least,  orisons  may  aid  him!  It  is  doing  something 
for  him!     Oh,  where  are  my  beads?    I  can  begin  at  once/^ 

The  queen  put  her  arm  round  her,  and  together  they 
said  the  "  De  profundis," — tlie  queen  understood  every 
word  far  more  for  the  Hving  than  the  dead.  Again  Eliza- 
beth had  given  new  hfe  to  Eustacie.  The  intercession  for 
her  husband  was  something  to  hve  for,  and  tlie  severest 
convent  was  coveted,  until  she  was  assured  that  she  would 
not  be  allowed  to  enter  on  any  rule  till  she  had  time  to  re- 
cover her  health,  and  show  the  constancy  of  her  purpose  by 
a  residence  at  Bellaise. 

Ere  parting,  however,  the  queen  bent  over  her,  and  col- 
oring, as  if  much  ashamed  of  what  she  said,  whispered — 
"  Child,  not  a  word  of  the  ceremony  at  Mont]»ipeau!  you 
understand?  The  king  was  always  averse;  it  would  bring 
him  and  mc  into  dreadful  trouble  with  those  others,  and 
alas!  it  makes  no  difference  now.     You  will  be  silent?'^ 

And  Eustacie  signed  her  acquiescence,  as  indeed  no  diffi- 
culty was  made  in  her  being  regarded  as  the  widow  of  the 
Baron  de  Ribaumont,  when  she  further  insisted  on  procur- 
ing a  widow's  dress  before  she  quitted  her  room,  and  de- 
clared, with  much  dignity,  that  she  should  esteem  no  per- 
son her  friend  who  called  her  Mile,  de  Nid-de-Merle.  To 
this  the  Chevalier  de  Ribaumont  was  willing  to  give  way; 
he  did  not  care  whether  Narcisse  married  her  as  Berenger's 
widow  or  as  the  separated  maiden  wife,  and  he  thought  her 
vehement  opposition  and  dislike  would  die  away  the  faster 
the  fewer  impediments  were  placed  in  her  way.  Both  he 
and  Diane  strongly  discouraged  any  attempt  on  Narcisse's 
part  at  a  farewell  interview;  and  thus  unmolested,  and 
under  the  constant  soothing  influence  of  reciting  her  pray- 
ers, in  the  trust  that  tliey  were  availing  her  husband,  Eus- 
tacie rallied  so  much  that  about  ten  days  after  the  dreadful 
St.  Bartholomew,  in  the  early  morning,  she  was  half  led 
half  carried  down  the  stairs  between  her  uncle  and  Ve- 
ronique.  Her  face  was  close  muffled  in  her  thick  black  veil, 
but  when  she  came  to  the  foot  of  the  first  stairs  where  she 
had  found  Berenger's  cajo,  a  terrible  shuddering  came  on 
her;  she  again  murmured  something  about  the  smell  of 
blood  and  fell  into  a  swoon. 

"  Carry  her  on  at  once,"  said  Diane  who  was  following 
— "  there  will  be  no  end  to  it  if  you  do  not  remove  her  im- 
mediately." 


130  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS. 

And  thus  shielded  from  the  sight  of  ISTarcisse's  intended 
passionate  gesture  of  farewell  at  the  palace  door,  Eustacie 
was  laid  at  full  length  on  the  seat  of  the  great  ponderous 
family  coach,  where  Veroniqne  hardly  wished  to  revive  her 
till  the  eight  horses  should  have  dragged  her  beyond  the 
streets  of  Paris,  with  their  terrible  associations,  and  the  gib- 
bets still  hung  with  the  limbs  of  tiie  murdered. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

THE  bridegroom's  ARRIVAL. 

The  starling  flew  to  his  mother's  window  stane. 

It  whistled  and  it  sang, 
And  aye,  the  owcr  word  of  the  tune 

"Was  '  Johnnie  tarries  lang.' 

Johnnie  of  Bredislee. 

There  had  been  distrust  and  dissatisfaction  at  home  for 
many  a  day  jjast.  Berenger  could  hardly  be  censured  for 
loving  his  own  wife,  and  yet  his  family  were  by  no  means 
gratified  by  the  prospect  of  his  bringing  home  a  little 
Erench  Papist,  of  whom  Lady  Thistlewood  remembered 
nothing  good. 

Lucy  was  indignantly  fetched  home  by  her  step-mother, 
who  insisted  on  treating  her  with  extreme  pity  as  a  desert- 
ed maiden,  and  thus  counteracting  Aunt  Cecily's  wise 
representations,  that  there  never  should,  and  therefore 
never  could,  have  been  anything  save  fraternal  affection  be- 
tween the  young  people,  and  that  pity  was  almost  an  insult 
to  Lucy.  Tbe  good  girl  herself  was  made  very  uncom- 
fortable by  these  demonstrations,  and  avoided  them  as  much 
as  possible,  chiefly  striving  in  her  own  gentle  way  to  pre- 
pare her  little  sisters  to  exjiect  numerous  charms  in  brother 
Berenger's  wife,  and  heartily  agreeing  with  Philij)  that 
Berenger  knew  his  own  mind  best. 

"  And  at  any  rate,"  quoth  Philip,  "  we'll  have  the  besj- 
bonfire  that  ever  was  seen  in  the  country!  Lucy,  you'll 
coax  my  father  to  give  us  a  tar-barrel!" 

The  tar-barrel  presided  over  a  monstrous  ])\\(i  of  fagots, 
and  the  fisher-boys  were  promised  a  tester  to  whoever  should 
first-  bring  word  to  Master  Philip  that  the  young  lord  and 
lady  were  in  the  creek. 

Philip  gave  his  pony  no  rest,  between  the  lookout  oii  the 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  131 

downs  and  the  borders  of  the  creek;  but  day  after  day 
passed,  and  still  the  smacks  from  Jersey  held  no  person 
worth  mentioning;  and  still  the  sense  of  expectation  kept 
Lucy  starting  at  every  sound,  and  hating  herself  for  her 
own  foil}'. 

At  last  Philip  burst  into  Combe  Manor,  fiery  red  with 
ridmg  and  consternation,  "  Oh!  father,  father,  Paul 
Duval's  boat  is  come  in,  and  he  says  that  the  villain  Papists 
have  butchered  every  Protestant  in  France.  ■'' 

Sir  Marmaduke's  asseveration  was  of  the  strongest,  that 
he  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it.  Nevertheless,  he  took  his 
horse  and  rode  down  to  interrogate  Paul  Duval,  and  charge 
him  not  to  spread  the  report  lest  he  should  alarm  the  ladies. 

But  the  report  was  in  the  air.  He  »vent  to  the  hall,  and 
the  butler  met  him  with  a  grave  face,  and  took  him  to  the 
study,  where  Lord  Walwyn  was  sitting  over  letters  newly 
received  from  London,  giving  hints  from  the  Low  Coun- 
tries of  bloody  work  in  France.  And  when  he  returned  to 
his  home,  his  wife  burst  out  upon  him  in  despair.  Here 
had  they  been  certainly  killing  her  poor  boy.  Isoi  a  doubt 
that  he  was  dead.  All  from  this  miserable  going  to  France, 
and  that  had  been  quite  against  her  will. 

Stoutly  did  Sir  Marmaduke  persevere  in  his  disbelief; 
but  every  day  some  fresh  wave  of  tidings  floated  in.  Mur- 
der wholesale  had  surely  been  perpetrated.  Now  came 
stories  of  death-bells  at  Rouen  from  the  fishermen  on  the 
coast;  now  markets  and  petty  sessions  discussed  the  foul 
slaughter  of  the  embassador  and  his  household;  truly  relat- 
ed how  the  queen  had  put  on  mourning,  and  falsely  that 
she  had  hung  the  French  embassador  La  Mothe  Fenelon. 
And  Burleigii  wrote  to  his  old  friend  from  Loudon,  that 
some  horrible  carnage  had  assuredly  taken  place,  and  that 
no  news  had  yet  been  received  of  Sir  Francis  Walsingham 
or  of  his  suite. 

All  these  days  seemed  so  many  years  taken  from  the  vital 
power  of  Lord  Walwyn.  Not  only  had  his  hopes  and 
affections  wound  themselves  closely  around  his  grandson, 
but  he  reproached  himself  severely  with  having  trusted  him 
in  his  youth  and  inexperience  among  the  seductive  j)erils  of 
Paris.  The  old  man  grieved  over  the  promising  young  life 
cut  off,  and  charged  on  himself  the  loss  and  grief  to  the 
women,  whose  stay  he  had  trusted  Berenger  would  have 
been.     He  said  little,  but  his  hand  and  head  grew  more 


133  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

trembling;  he  scarcely  eat  or  slejDt^  and  seemed  to  waste 
from  a  vigorous  elder  to  a  feeble  being  in  the  extremity  of 
old  age,  till  Lady  Wahvyn  had  almost  ceased  to  think  of 
her  grandson  in  her  anxiety  for  her  husband. 

Letters  came  at  last.  The  messenger  dispatched  by  Sir 
Francis  Walsingham  had  not  been  able  to  proceed  till  the 
ways  had  become  safe,  and  he  had  then  been  delayed;  but 
on  his  arrival  his  tidings  were  sent  down.  There  were  let- 
ters both  from  Sir  Francis  Walsingham  and  from  heart- 
broken Mr.  Adderley,  both  to  the  same  effect,  with  all 
jDOSsible  ]3raises  of  the  young  Baron  de  Eibanmont,  all  possi- 
ble reproach  to  themselves  for  having  let  him  be  betrayed 
into  this  most  horrible  snare,  in  which  he  had  perished, 
without  even  a  possibility  of  recovering  his  remains  for 
honorable  burial.  Poor  Mr.  Adderley  further  said  that  Mr. 
Sidney,  who  was  inconsolable  for  the  loss  of  his  friend,  had 
offered  to  escort  him  to  the  Low  Countries,  whence  he 
would  make  his  way  to  England,  and  would  present  him- 
self at  Hurst  Walwyn,  if  his  lordship  could  endure  the  sight 
of  his  creature  who  had  so  miserably  failed  in  his  trust. 

Lord  Walwyn  read  both  letters  twice  through  before  he 
spoke.  Then  he  took  off  his  spectacles,  laid  them  down, 
and  said  calmly,  "  God's  will  be  done.  I  thank  God  that 
my  boy  was  blameless.  Better  they  slew  him  than  sent 
him  home  tainted  with  their  vices. " 

The  certainty,  such  as  it  was,  seemed  like  rej)ose  after 
the  suspense.  They  knew  to  what  to  resign  themselves, 
and  even  Lady  Thistlewood^s  tempestuous  grief  had  so 
spent  itself  that  late  in  the  evening  the  family  sat  round 
the  fire  in  the  hall,  the  old  lord  dozing  as  one  worn  out 
with  sorrow,  the  others  talking  hi  hushed  tones  of  that 
bright  boyhood,  that  joyous  light  quenched  in  the  night  of 
carnage. 

The  butler  slowly  entered  the  hall,  and  approached  Sir 
Marmaduke  cautiously.     "  Can  I  speak  with  you,  sir?" 

"  What  is  it,  Davy?"  demanded  the  lady,  who  first 
caught  the  words.     "  What  did  you  say?'' 

"''Madame,  it  is  Humfrey  Holt!" 

Humf  rey  Holt  was  the  head  of  the  grooms  who  had  gone 
with  Berenger;  and  there  was  a  general  start  and  sup- 
pressed exclamation.  "  Humfrey  Holt!''  said  Lord  Wal- 
wyn, feebly  drawing  himself  to  sit  upright,  "  hath  he, 
then,  escaped?" 


THE    CIIAl'LET    OF    PEARLS.  13:J 

"  Yea,  my  lord/'  said  Davy,  "  and  he  brings  news  of 
my  young  lord. ' ' 

"Alack!  Davy,"  said  Lady  Walwyn,  "such  news  had 
been  jjrecious  awhile  ago.  " 

"  Nay,  so  please  your  ladyship,  it  is  better  than  3'ou 
deem.     Hurafrey  says  my  young  lord  is  yet  living. " 

"  Living!"  shrieked  Lady  Thistle  wood,  starting  up. 
'"'  Living!     My  son!  and  where?" 

"  They  are  bearing  him  home,  my  lady,"  said  the  but- 
ler, "  but  I  fear  me,  by  what  Humfrey  says,  that  it  is  but 
in  woful  case." 

"  Bringing  him  home!  Which  way?"  Philip  darted  off 
like  an  arrow  from  the  bow.  Sir  Marmaduke  hastily  de- 
manded if  aid  were  wanted;  and  Lady  Walwyn,  interpret- 
ing the  almost  inaudible  voice  of  her  husband,  bade  that 
Humfrey  should  be  called  in  to  tell  his  own  story. 

Hands  were  held  out  in  greeting,  and  blessings  murmured, 
as  the  groom  entered,  looking  battered  and  worn,  and  bow- 
ing low  in  confusion  at  being  thus  unusually  conspicuous, 
and  having  to  tell  his  story  to  the  whole  assembled  family. 
To  the  first  anxious  question  as  to  the  condition  of  the 
young  lord,  he  replied,  "  Marr}^,  my  lady,  the  life  is  yet 
in  him,  and  that  is  all.  He  hath  been  shot  through  the 
head  and  body,  and  slashed  about  the  face  so  as  it  is  a  shame 
to  see.  Nor  hath  he  done  aught  these  three  weary  weeks 
but  moan  from  time  to  time  so  as  it  is  enough  to  break 
one's  heart  to  hear  him;  and  I  fear  me  'tis  but  bringing 
him  home  to  die. " 

"  Even  so,  God  be  thanked;  and  you,  too,  honest  Hum- 
frey," said  Lady  Walwyn.  "Let  us  hear  when  and  how 
this  deed  was  done." 

"  Why,  that,  my  lord,  I  can't  so  well  say,  being  that  1 
was  not  with  him;  more's  the  pity,  or  I'd  have  known  the 
reason  why,  or  ever  they  laid  a  finger  on  him.  But  when 
Master  Landry,  his  French  foster-brother,  comes,  he  will 
resolve  you  in  his  own  tongue.  I  can't  parleyvoo  with  him, 
but  he's  an  honest  rogue  for  a  Frenchman,  and  'twas  he 
brought  off  my  young  lord.  You  see  we  were  all  told  to  be 
aboard  the  little  French  craft.  Master  Landry  took  me 
down  and  settled  it  all  with  the  master,  a  French  farmer 
fellow  that  came  a  horse-dealing  to  Piiris,  I  knew  what 
my  young  lord  was  after,  but  none  of  the  other  varlets  did; 
and  I  went  down  and  made  as  decent  a  place  as  J  could  be- 


184  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

tween  decks.  My  lord  and  Master  Landry  were  gone  down 
to  the  court  meantime,  and  we  were  to  lie  off  till  we  heard 
ji  whistle  like  a  mavis  on  the  bank,  then  come  and  take 
them  aboard.  Well,  we  waited  and  waited,  and  all  the 
lights  were  out,  and  not  a  sound  did  we  hear  till  just  an 
hour  after  midnight.  Then  a  big  bell  rang  out,  not  like  a 
decent  Christianable  bell,  but  a  great  clash,  then  another, 
and  a  lot  of  strokes  enough  to  take  away  one's  breath. 
Then  half  the  windows  were  lighted  up,  and  we  heard  shots, 
and  screeches,  anil  splashes,  till,  as  I  said  to  Jack  Smithers, 
'twas  as  if  one  half  the  place  was  murthering  the  other. 
The  farmer  got  frightened,  and  would  have  been  off;  but 
when  I  saw  what  he  was  at,  '  No,'  says  I,  '  not  an  inch  do 
we  budge  without  news  of  my  lord.'  So  Jack  stood  by  the 
rope,  and  let  them  see  that  'twas  as  much  as  their  life  was 
worth  to  try  to  unmoor.  Mercy,  what  a  night  it  was! 
Shrieks  and  shouts,  and  shots  and  howls,  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  and  splashes  into  the  river;  and  by  and  by  we 
saw  tlie  poor  murthered  creatures  come  floating  by.  The 
farmer,  he  had  some  words  with  one  of  the  boats  near,  and 
I  heard  somewliat  of  Huguenot  and  Hereteek,  and  I  knew 
that  was  what  they  called  good  Protestants.  Then  up 
comes  the  farmer  with  his  sons  looking  mighty  ugly  at  us, 
and  signing  that  unJess  we  let  them  be  oft'  'twould  be  the 
worse  for  us;  and  we  began  to  think  as  how  we  had  best  be 
set  ashore,  and  go  down  the  five  of  us  to  see  if  we  could 
stand  by  my  young  lord  in  some  strait,  or  give  notice  to 
my  lord  embassador." 

"  God  reward  you!"  exclaimed  Lady  Walwyn. 

"  "I'was  only  our  duty,  my  lady,"  gruffly  answered 
Humfrey;  "  but  just  a.s  Hal  had  got  on  the  quay,  what 
should  I  see  but  Master  Landry  coming  down  the  street 
with  my  young  lord  on  his  back!  I  can  tell  you  he  was 
well-nigh  spent;  and  just  then  half  a  dozen  butcherly  vil- 
lains came  out  on  him,  bawling,  *  Tu-y!  tu-y!'  which  it 
seems  means  '  kill,  kill."  He  returned  about  and  showed 
them  that  he  had  got  a  white  sleeve  and  white  cross  in  his 
bonnet,  like  them,  the  rascals,  giving  them  to  understand 
that  he  was  only  going  to  throw  the  corpse  into  the  river. 
I  doubted  him  then  myself;  but  he  caught  sight  of  us,  and 
in  his  fashion  of  talk  with  us,  called  out  to  us  to  help,  for 
there  was  life  still.  So  two  of  us  took  my  lord,  and  the 
other  three  gave  the  beggarly  French  cut-throats  as  good  as 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.      .  135 

they  meant  for  us;  while  Landry  shouted  to  the  farmer  to 
wait,  and  we  got  aboard,  and  made  right  away  down  the 
river.  But  never  a  word  has  the  poor  young  gentleman 
spoken,  though  Master  Landry  has  done  all  a  barber  or  a 
sick-nurse  could  do;  and  he  got  us  past  the  cities  by  show- 
ing the  23apers  in  my  lord's  pocket,  so  that  we  got  safe  to 
the  farmer's  place.  There  we  lay  till  we  could  get  a  boat 
to  Jersey,  and  thence  again  home;  and  may  be  my  young 
lord  will  mend  now  Mistress  Cecily  will  have  the  handling 
of  him. " 

"  That  is  in  the  wisest  hands,  good  Humfrey, "  said  Lord 
Walwyn,  as  the  tears  of  feeble  age  flowed  down  his  cheeks. 
"  May  He  who  hath  brought  the  lad  safely  so  far  spare  him 
yet,  and  raise  him  up.  But  whether  he  live  or  die,  you  son 
and  daughter  Thistlewood  will  look  that  the  faithfulness  of 
Humfrey  Holt  and  his  comrades  be  never  forgotten  or  un- 
rewarded. ' ' 

Humfrey  again  muttered  something  about  no  more  than 
his  duty;  but  by  this  time  sounds  were  heard  betokening 
the  ajjproach  of  the  melancholy  j^rocession,  who,  having 
been  relieved  by  a  relay  of  servants  sent  at  once  from  the 
house,  were  bearing  home  the  wounded  youth.  Philip  first 
of  all  dashed  in  hurrying  and  stumbling.  He  had  been 
unprepared  by  hearing  Humfrey's  account,  and,  impetuous 
and  affectionate  as  he  was,  was  entirely  unrestrained,  and 
flinging  himself  on  his  knees  with  the  half  audible  words, 
"Oh!  Lucy!  Lucy!  he  is  as  good  as  dead!"  hid  his  face 
between  his  arms  on  his  sister's  lap,  and  sobbed  with  the 
abandonment  of  a  child,  and  with  all  his  youthful  strength; 
so  much  adding  to  the  consternation  and  confusion,  that, 
finding  all  Lucy's  gentle  entreaties  vain,  his  father  at  last 
roughly  pulled  up  his  face  by  main  force,  and  said,"  Philip, 
hold  your  tongue!  Are  we  to  have  you  on  our  hands  as  well 
as  my  lady?  I  shall  send  you  home  this  moment!  Let 
your  sister  go." 

This  threat  reduced  the  boy  to  silence.  Luc}^,  who  was 
wanted  to  assist  in  preparing  Bcrenger's  room,  disengaged 
herself;  but  he  remained  in  the  same  posture,  his  head  bur- 
ied on  the  seat  of  the  chair,  and  the  loud  weeping  only  for- 
cibly stifled  by  forcing  his  handkerchief  into  his  mouth,  as 
if  he  had  been  in  violent  bodily  pain.  Nor  did  he  venture 
again  to  look  up  as  the  cause  of  all  his  distress  was  slowly 
carried  into  the  hall,  corpse-like  indeed.     The  bearers  had 


136  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

clianged  several  times,  all  but  a  tall,  fair  Xorman  youth, 
who  through  the  whole  transit  had  supported  the  head,  en- 
deavoring to  guard  it  from  shocks.  When  the  mother  and 
the  rest  came  forward,  he  made  a  gesture  to  conceal  the  face, 
saying  in  French,  "Ah!  mesdames;  this  is  no  sight  for 
you.'' 

Indeed  the  head  and  face  were  almost  entirely  hidden  by 
bandages,  and  it  was  not  till  Berenger  had  been  safely  de- 
posited on  a  large  carved  bed  that  the  anxious  relatives 
were  permitted  to  perceive  the  number  and  extent  of  his 
hurts;  and  truly  it  was  only  by  the  breath,  the  vital 
warmtli,  and  the  heavy  moans  when  he  was  disturbed,  or 
the  dressings  of  the  wounds  were  touched,  that  showed  him 
still  to  be  a  living  man.  There  proved  to  be  no  less  than 
four  wounds — a  shot  tlirough  the  right  shoulder,  the  right 
arm  also  broken  with  a  terrible  blow  with  a  sword,  a  broad 
gash  from  the  left  temple  to  the  right  ear,  and  worse  than 
all,  " /e  baiser  d'Eustacie,"  a  bullet- wound  where  the 
muzzle  of  the  jiistol  had  absolutely  been  so  close  as  to  have 
burned  and  blackened  the  cheek;  so  that  his  life  was,  as 
Osbert  averred,  chiefly  owing  to  the  assassin^s  jealousy  of 
his  personal  beauty,  which  had  directed  his  slut  to  the 
cheek  rather  than  the  head;  and  thus,  though  the  bullet 
had  terribly  shattered  the  upper  jaw  and  roof  of  the  mouth, 
and  had  passed  out  through  the  back  of  the  head,  there 
was  a  hope  that  it  had  not  penetrated  the  seat  of  life  or 
reason.  The  other  gash  on  the  face  was  but  a  sword- 
wound,  and  though  frightful  to  look  at,  was  unimpor- 
tant, compared  with  the  first  wound  with  the  pistol-shot 
in  the  shoulder,  with  the  arm  broken  and  further  in- 
jured by  having  served  to  suspend  him  round  Osbert's 
neck;  but  it  was  altogether  so  appalling  a  sight,  that  it 
was  no  wonder  that  Sir  Marmaduke  muttered  low  but  deep 
curses  on  the  cowardly  ruffians;  while  his  wife  wept  in 
grief  as  violent,  though  more  silent,  than  her  step-sonX 
and  only  Cecily  gathered  the  faintest  ray  of  hope.  The 
wounds  had  been  well  cared  for,  the  arm  had  been  set,  the 
hair  cut  away,  and  lint  and  bandages  applied  with  a  skill 
that  surprised  her,  till  she  remembered  that  Landry  Osbert 
had  been  bred  up  in  preparation  to  be  Berenger's  valet, 
and  thus  to  practice  those  minor  arts  of  surgery  then  re- 
quired in  a  superior  body-servant.  For  his  part,  though 
his  eyes  looked  red,  and  his  whole  person  exhausted  by  un- 


THE    CIIAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  137 

ceasing  watching,  he  seemed  unable  to  relinquish  the  care 
of  his  master  for  a  moment,  and  her  nunnery  French  would 
not  have  persuaded  him  of  her  sufiiciency  as  a  nurse,  had 
he  not  perceived  her  tender  touch  and  ready  skill.  These 
were  what  made  him  consent  to  leave  his  post  even  for  a 
slioi't  meal,  and  so  soon  as  he  had  eaten  it  he  was  called  to 
Lord  Walwyn  to  supply  the  further  account  which  Hum- 
frey  had  been  unable  to  give.  He  had  waited,  he  explained, 
with  a  lackey,  a  friend  of  his  in  the  palace,  till  he  became 
alarmed  by  the  influx  of  armed  men,  wearing  white  crosses 
and  shirt-sleeves  on  their  left  arms,  but  his  friend  had  as- 
sured him  that  his  master  had  been  summoned  to  the  royal 
bed-chamber,  where  he  would  be  as  safe  as  in  church;  and 
obtaining  from  Landry  Osbert  himself,  a  perfectly  true 
assurance  of  being  a  good  Catholic,  had  supplied  him  with 
the  badges  that  were  needful  for  security.  It  was  just  then 
that  madame's  maid  crept  down  to  hiS  waiting-place  with 
the  intelligence  that  her  mistress  had  been  bolted  in,  and 
after  a  short  consultation  they  agreed  to  go  and  see  whether 
M.  le  Baron  were  indeed  waiting,  and,  if  he  were,  to  warn 
him  of  the  suspicious  state  of  the  lower  regions  of  the  pal- 
ace. 

They  were  just  in  time  to  see,  but  not  to  prevent  the  at- 
tack upon  their  young  master;  and  while  Veronique  fled, 
screaming,  Landry  Osbert,  who  had  been  thrown  back  on 
the  stairs  in  her  sudden  flight,  recovered  himself  and  has- 
tened to  his  master.  The  murderers,  after  their  blows  had 
been  struck,  had  hurried  along  the  corridor  to  join  the  body 
of  assassins,  whose  work  they  had  in  efi'ect  somewhat  an- 
ticipated. Landry,  full  of  rage  and  despair,  was  resolved  at 
least  to  save  his  foster-brother's  corjDse  from  further  insult, 
and  bore  it  down-stairs  in  his  arms.  On  the  way,  he  per- 
ceived that  life  was  not  yet  extinct,  and  resolving  to  become 
doubly  cautious,  he  sought  in  the  pocket  for  the  jjurse  that 
had  been  well  filled  for  the  flight,  and  by  the  persuasive  ar- 
gument of  gold  crowns,  obtained  egress  from  the  door- 
keeper of  the  postern,  wdiere  Berenger  hoped  to  have 
emerged  in  a  far  different  manner.  It  was  a  favorable 
moment,  for  the  main  body  of  the  murderers  were  at  that 
time  being  posted  in  the  court  by  the  captain  of  the  guard, 
ready  to  massacre  the  gentlemen  of  the  King  of  Navarre's 
suite,  and  he  was  therefore  unmolested  by  any  claimant  of 
the  plunder  of  the  apparent  corpse  he  bore  on  his  shoulders. 


138  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS, 

The  citizens  of  Paris  who  had  been  engaged  in  their  share 
of  the  murders  for  more  than  an  hoar  before  the  tragedy 
began  in  the  Louvre,  frequently  beset  him  on  liis  way  to 
the  quay,  and  but  for  the  timely  aid  of  his  English  com- 
rades, he  would  hardly  have  brought  off  his  foster-brother 
safely. 

The  pass  with  which  King  Charles  had  provided  Berenger 
for  himself  and  his  followers  when  his  elopement  was  first 
planned,  enabled  Osbert  to  carry  his  whole  crew  safely  past 
all  the  stations  where  passports  were  demanded.  He  had 
much  wished  to  procure  surgical  aid  at  Rouen,  but  learn- 
ing from  the  boatmen  on  the  river  that  the  like  bloody 
scenes  were  there  being  enacted,  he  had  decided  on  going 
on  to  his  master's  English  home  as  soon  as  possible,  merely 
trusting  to  liis  own  skill  by  the  way;  and  though  it  was  the 
slightest  23ossible  hope,  yet  the  healthy  state  of  the  wounds, 
and  the  mere  fact  of  life  continuing,  had  given  him  some 
faint  trust  that  there  might  be  a  partial  recovery. 

Lord  Walwyn  repeated  iiis  agitated  thanks  and  praises 
for  such  devotion  to  his  grandson. 

Osbert  bowed,  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  replied — 
"  Monseigneur  is  good,  but  what  say  I?  Monsieur  le  Baron 
is  my  foster-brother  I  Say  that,  and  all  is  had  in  one  word." 

He  was  then  dismissed,  with  orders  to  take  some  rest, 
but  he  obstinately  refused  all  commands  in  French  or  En- 
glish to  go  to  bed,  and  was  found  some  time  after  fast 
asleep. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SWEET  HEAET. 

Ye  hae  marred  a  bonnier  face  than  your  ain. 

Dying  wonh  of  the  Bonnie  Earl  of  Moray. 

One  room  at  Hurst  Walwyn,  though  large,  wainscoted, 
and  well  furnished,  bore  as  pertinaciously  the  air  of  a  cell 
as  the  appearance  of  Sister  Cecily  St.  John  continued  like 
that  of  a  nun.  There  was  a  large  sunny  oriel,  in  which  a 
thrush  sung  merrily  in  a  wicker  cage,  and  yet  the  very 
central  point  and  leading  feature  of  the  room  was  the  altar- 
like table,  covered  with  rich  needle-work,  with  a  carved 
ebony  crucifix  jjlaced  on  it,  and  on  the  wall  above,  quaint 
and  stiff,  but  lovely  featured,  delietitely  tinted  pictures  of 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  139 

Our  Lady  in  the  center,  and  of  St.  Anne  and  St.  Cecilia 
en  either  side,  with  skies  behind  of  most  ethereal  blue,  and 
robes  tenderly  trimmed  with  gold.  A  little  shrine  of  2)ur- 
ple  spar,  witii  a  crystal  front,  contained  a  fragment  of 
sacred  bone;  a  silver  shell  held  holy  water,  perpetuated 
from  some  blessed  by  Bishop  Ridley. 

"  With  velvet  bound  and  broidered  o'er. 
Her  breviary  book  " 

lay  open  at  "  Sext,"  and  there,  too,  lay  with  its  three 
murks  at  the  Daily  Lessons,  the  Bishop's  Bible,  and  the 
Common  Prayer  beside  it. 

The  elder  Baron  de  Ribaimiont  had  never  pardoned  Ce- 
cily his  single  glance  at  that  table,  and  had  seriousl}''  re- 
monstrated with  his  father-in-law  for  permitting  its  exist- 
ence, quoting  Rachel,  Achan,  and  Maachah.  Yet  he  never 
knew  of  the  hair-cloth  smock,  the  discipline,  the  cord  and 
sack-cloth  that  lay  stored  in  the  large  carved  awmry,  and 
were  secretly  in  use  on  every  fast  or  vigil,  not  with  any  no- 
tion of  merit,  but  of  simple  obedience,  and  with  even  deeper 
comprehension  and  enjoyment  of  their  sj)iritual  siguifiance, 
of  which,  in  her  cloister  life,  she  had  comprehended  little. 

It  was  not  she,  however,  who  knelt  with  bowed  head  and 
clasped  hands  before  the  altar-table,  the  winter  sunbeams 
making  the  shadows  of  the  ivy-s2irays  dance  upon  the  deep 
mourning  dress  and  ^Jale  cheek.  The  eyelashes  were  heavy 
with  tear-droj^s,  and  veiled  eyes  that  had  not  yet  attained  to 
the  region  of  calm,  like  the  light  quivering  of  the  lips, 
showed  that  here  was  the  beginning  of  the  course  of  trial 
through  which  serenity  might  be  won,  and  forever. 

By  and  by  the  latch  was  raised,  and  Cecily  came  for- 
ward. Lucy  rose  quickly  to  her  feet,  and  while  giving  and 
returning  a  fond  embrace,  asked  with  her  eyes  the  question 
that  Cecily  answered,  "  Still  in  the  same  lethargy.  The 
only  shade  of  sense  that  I  have  seen  is  an  unclosing  of  the 
eyes,  a  wistful  look  whenever  the  door  opened,  and  a  shiver 
through  all  his  frame  whenever  the  great  bell  rings,  till  my 
lord  forbade  it  to  be  sounded. " 

"  That  frightful  bell  that  the  men  told  us  of,'^  said  Lucy 
shuddering;  "  oh,  what  a  heart  that  murderess  must  have 
had!" 

"  Hold,  Lucy!  How  should  we  judge  her,  who  may  at 
this  moment  be  weeping  in  desolation?" 


140  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

Lucy  looked  up  astonished.  "Auut/'she  said,  "you 
have  been  so  long  shut  up  with  him  that  you  hardly  can 
have  heard  all — how  she  ^^layed  fast  and  loose,  and  for  the 
sake  of  a  mere  i^ageant  put  off  the  flight  from  the  time 
when  it  would  have  been  secure  even  until  that  dreadful 
eve!^' 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Cecily.  "  I  fear  me  much  that  her 
sin  has  been  great;  yet,  Lucy,  it  were  better  to  pray  for 
her  than  to  talk  wildly  against  her. " 

"  Alas!"  murmured  Lucy,  "  I  could  bear  it  and  glory  iu 
it  when  it  seemed  death  for  the  faith's  sake,  but,"  and  the 
tears  burst  out,  "  to  find  he  was  only  trapped  and  slain  for 
the  sake  of  a  faithless  girl — and  that  he  should  love  her 
still. '^ 

"  She  is  his  wife,''  said  Cecily.  "  Child,  from  my  soul 
I  grieve  for  you,  but  none  the  less  must  I,  if  no  other  will, 
keep  before  your  eyes  that  our  Berenger's  faith  belongs 
solely  to  her." 

"  You — you  never  would  have  let  me  forget  it,"  said 
Lucy.  "  Indeed  I  am  more  maidenly  when  not  alone  with 
3^ou!  I  know  verily  tliat  he  is  loyal,  and  that  my  hatred  to 
her  is  more  than  is  meet.  I  will — I  will  pray  for  her,  but 
I  would  that  you  were  in  your  convent  still,  and  that  I 
could  hide  me  there."' 

"  That  were  scarce  enough/'  said  Cecily.  "  One  sister 
we  had  who  had  fled  to  our  house  to  hide  her  grief  when 
her  betrothed  had  wedded  another.  She  took  her  sorrows 
for  her  vocation,  strove  to  hurry  on  her  vows,  and  when 
they  were  taken,  she  chafed  and  fretted  under  them.  It 
was  she  who  wrote  to  the  commissioner  the  letter  that  led 
to  the  visitation  of  our  house,  and,  moreover,  she  was  the 
only  one  of  us  who  married." 

"  To  her  own  lover?"  i 

"  No,  to  a  brewer  at  "Winchester!  I  say  not  that  you  could 
ever  be  like  poor  sister  Bridget,  but  only  that  the  cloister 
has  no  charm  to  still  the  lieart — prayer  and  duty  can  do  as 
much  without  as  within." 

''  When  we  deemed  her  worthy,  I  was  glad  of  his  happi- 
ness," said  Lucy,  thoughtfully. 

"  You  did,  my  dear,  and  I  rejoiced.  Think  now  how 
grievous  it  must  be  with  her,  if  she,  as  I  fear  she  may, 
yielded  her  heart  to  those,  M'ho  told  her  that  to  insnare 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    I'EAliLS.  141 

liim  was  her  duty,  or  if  indeed  she  were  as  much  deceived 
as  he." 

"Then  she  will  soon  be  comforted,"  said  Lucy,  still 
with  some  bitterness  in  her  voice;  bitterness  of  which  she 
herself  was  j^erhaps  conscious,  for  suddenly  droi^ping  on 
lier  knees,  she  hid  her  face,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  help  me  to 
pray  for  her.  Aunt  Cecily,  and  that  I  may  do  her  wrong  no 
more!" 

And  Cecily,  in  her  low  conventual  chant,  sung,  almost 
under  her  breath,  the  noonday  Latin  hymn,  the  words  of 
which,  long  familiar  to  Lucy,  had  never  as  yet  so  come 
home  to  lier: 

' '  Quench  Thou  the  fires  of  heat  and  strife. 
The  v/asting  fever  of  tlie  heart: 
From  perils  guard  our  feeble  life. 
And  to  our  souls  Thy  help  impart." 

Cecily's  judgment  would  have  been  thought  weakly 
charitable  by  all  the  rest  of  the  family.  Mr.  Adderley  had 
been  forwarded  by  Sir  Francis  Walsingham  like  a  bale  of 
goods,  and  arriving  in  a  mood  of  such  self-reproach  as 
would  be  deemed  abject  by  persons  used  to  the  modern  re- 
lations between  noblemen  and  their  chaplains,  was  exhil- 
arated by  the  unlooked-for  comfort  of  finding  his  young 
charge  at  least  living,  and  in  his  grandfather's  house.  From 
his  narrative,  AValsingham's  letters,  and  Osbert's  account. 
Lord  Walwyn  saw  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  Black 
Eibaumonts  had  thought  the  massacre  a  favorable  moment 
for  sweejDing  the  only  survivor  of  the  White  or  elder  branch 
away,  and  that  not  only  had  royalty  lent  itself  to  the  cruel 
roject,  but  that  as  Diane  de  Ribaumont  had  failed  as  a 
ait,  the  young  espoused  wife  had  herself  been  employed 
to  draw  him  hi  to  the  snare,  and  secure  his  presence  at  the 
slaugliter-house,  away  fi'oni  his  safe  asylum  of  the  embassa- 
dor's, or  even  in  the  king's  (/arde-roie.  It  was  an  unspeak- 
ably frightful  view  to  take  of  the  case,  yet  scarcely  worse 
than  the  reality  of  many  of  the  dealings  of  those  with  whom 
the  poor  young  girl  had  been  associated;  certainly  not 
worse  than  the  crimes,  tlie  suspicion  of  which  was  resting 
on  the  last  Dowager  Queen  of  France;  and  all  that  coidd  be 
felt  by  the  sorrowing  family,  was  comfort,  that  at  least  cor- 
ruption of  mind  had  either  not  been  part  of  the  game,  or 
had  been  unsuccessful,  and,  by  all  testimony,  the  victim 


142  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS. 

was  still  the  same  innoceut  boy.  This  was  all  their  relief, 
while  for  days,  for  weeks,  Berenger  de  Ribaumoiit  lay  in  a 
trance  or  torpor  between  life  and  death.  Sometimes,  as 
Cecily  had  said,  his  eyes  turned  with  a  startled  wistfulness 
toward  the  door,  and  the  sound  of  a  bell  seemed  to  thrill 
him  with  a  start  of  agony;  but  for  the  most  jiart  he  neither 
ap]3eared  to  see  or  hear,  and  a  few  moans  were  the  only 
sounds  that  escaped  him.  The  queen,  in  her  affection  for 
her  old  friend,  and  her  strong  feeling  for  the  victims  of  the 
massacre,  sent  down  the  court  physician,  who  turned  him 
about  and  elicited  sundry  heavy  groans,  but  could  do  no 
more  than  enjoin  patient  waiting  on  the  beneficent  jDOwers 
of  nature  in  early  youth.  His  visit  produced  one  benefit, 
namely,  the  strengthening  of  Cecily  St.  John's  hands 
against  the  charms,  elixirs,  and  nostrums  with  which  Lady 
Tliistlewood's  friends  supplied  her — plasters  from  the 
cunning  women  of  Lyme  Regis,  made  of  powder  of  giants' 
bones,  and  snakes  prayed  into  stone  by  St.  Aldhelm,  pills 
of  live  woodlice,  and  fomentations  of  living  earthworms 
and  spiders.  Great  was  the  censure  incurred  by  Lady 
AValwyn  for  refusing  to  let  such  remedies  be  tried  on  her 
grandson.  And  he  was  so  much  more  her  child  than  his 
mother's,  that  Dame  Annora  durst  do  no  more  than  maun- 
der. 

In  this  perfect  rest,  it  seemed  as  if  after  a  time  "  the 
powers  of  nature  ' '  did  begin  to  rally,  there  were  appear- 
ances of  healing  about  the  wounds,  the  difference  between 
sleeping  and  waking  became  more  evident,  the  eyes  lost 
the  painfid,  half-closed,  vacant  look,  but  were  either  shut 
or  opened  with  languid  recognition.  The  injuries  were 
such  as  to  exclude  him  from  almost  every  means  of  expres- 
sion, the  wound  in  his  mouth  made  speech  impossible,  and 
his  right  arm  was  not  available  for  signs.  It  was  only  the 
clearness  of  his  eyes,  and  their  response  to  what  was  said, 
that  showed  that  his  mind  was  recovering  tone,  and  then 
he  seemed  only  alive  to  the  present,  and  to  perceive  noth- 
ing but  what  related  to  his  suffering  and  its  alleviations. 
The  wistfulness  that  had  shown  itself  at  first  was  gone,  and 
even  when  he  improved  enough  to  establish  a  language  of 
signs  with  eye,  lip,  or  left  hand,  Cecily  became  convinced 
that  he  had  little  or  no  memory  of  recent  occurrences,  and 
that  finding  himself  at  home  among  familiar  faces,  his  still 
dormant  perceptions  demanded  no  further  explanation. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  143 

This  blank  was  the  most  favorable  state  for  his  peace  and 
for  his  recovery,  and  it  was  of  long  d^^ration,  lasting  even 
till  he  had  made  so  mnch  jDrogress  that  he  could  leave  his 
bed,  and  even  speak  a  few  words,  though  his  weakness  was 
much  prolonged  by  the  great  difficulty  with  which  he  could 
take  nourishment.  About  two  winters  before,  Cecily  had 
successfully  nursed  him  through  a  severe  attack  of  small- 
joox,  and  she  thought  that  he  confounded  his  present  state 
with  the  former  illness,  when  he  had  had  nearly  the  same 
attendants  and  surroundings  as  at  present;  and  that  his 
faculties  were  not  yet  roused  enough  to  perceive  the  incon- 
gruity. 

Once  or  twice  he  showed  surprise  at  visits  from  his  mother 
or  Philip,  who  had  then  been  entirely  kept  away  from  him, 
and  about  Christmas  he  brightened  so  much,  and  awoke  to 
things  about  him  so  much  more  fully,  that  Cecily  thought 
the  time  of  recollection  could  not  be  much  longer  deferred. 
Any  noise,  however,  seemed  so  painful  to  him,  that  the 
Christmas  festivities  were  held  at  Combe  Manor  instead  of 
Hurst  Walwyn;  only  after  church.  Sir  Marmaduke  and 
Lady  Thistlewood  came  in  to  make  him  a  visit,  as  he  sat  in 
a  large  easy-chair  by  his  bedroom-fire,  resting  after  having 
gone  through  as  much  of  the  rites  of  the  day  as  he  was 
able  for,  with  Mr.  Adderley.  The  room  looked  very  cheer- 
ful with  the  bright  wood-fire  on  the  open  hearth,  shining 
on  the  gay  tapestry  hangings,  and  the  dark  wood  of  the 
carved  bed.  The  evergreen-decked  window  shimmered 
with  sunshine,  and  even  the  joatient,  leaning  back  among 
crimson  cushions,  thongli  his  face  and  head  were  ghastly 
enough  wherever  they  were  not  covered  with  patches  and 
bandages,  still  had  a  pleasant  smile  with  lip  and  eye  to 
thank  his  step-father  for  his  cheery  wishes  of  "  a  merry 
Christmas,  at  least  one  better  in  health. '^ 

"  I  did  not  bring  the  little  wenches,  Berenger,  lest  they 
should  weary  you,^'  said  his  mother. 

Berenger  looked  alarmed,  and  said  with  the  indistinct- 
ness with  which  he  always  spoke,  "  Have  they  caught  it? 
Are  they  marked?" 

"  No,  no,  not  like  you,  my  boy,^'  said  Sir  Marmaduke, 
sufficiently  aware  of  Berenger's  belief  to  be  glad  to  keep  it 
up,  and  yet  obliged  to  walk  to  the  window  to  hide  his  di- 
version at  the  notion  of  his  little  girls  catching  the  conta- 
gion of  sword  gashes  and  bullet-wounds.     Dame  Annora 


144  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

prattled  on,  "  But  they  have  sent  3'Ou  their  Christmas  gifts 
by  me,  poor  children,  they  have  long  been  busied  with 
them,  and  I  fancy  Lucy  did  half  herself.  See,  this  ker- 
chief is  hemmed  by  little  Dolly,  and  here  are  a  pair  of 
bands  and  cuffs  to  match,  that  Nanny  and  Bessy  have  been 
broidering  with  their  choicest  stitchery. " 

Berenger  smiled,  took,  expressed  admiration  by  gesture, 
and  then  said  in  a  dreamy,  uncertain  manner:  "Me-' 
thought  I  had  some  gifts  for  them;"  then  looking  round 
the  room,  his  eye  fell  on  a  small  brass-bound  casket  which 
had  traveled  with  him  to  hold  his  valuables;  he  pointed  to 
it  with  a  iDleased  look,  as  Sir  Marmaduke  lifted  it  and  j)laced 
it  on  a  chair  by  his  side.  The  key,  a  small  ornamental 
brass  one,  was  in  his  purse,  not  far  off,  and  Lady  Thistle- 
wood  was  full  of  exceeding  satisfaction  at  the  unpacking 
not  only  of  foreign  gifts,  but  as  she  hoped,  of  the  pearls; 
Cecily  meantime  stole  quietly  in,  to  watch  that  her  patient 
was  not  overwearied. 

He  wafi  resuming  the  use  of  his  right  arm,  though  it  was 
still  weak  and  stiff,  and  he  evidently  had  an  instinct  against 
letting  any  one  deal  with  that  box  but  himself;  he  tried 
himself  to  unlock  it,  and  though  forced  to  leave  this  to  Sir 
Marmaduke,  still  leaned  over  it  when  opened,  as  if  to  pre- 
vent his  mother's  curious  glances  from  penetrating  its  I'e- 
cesses,  and  allowed  no  hands  near  it  but  his  own.  He  first 
brought  out  a  pretty  feather  fan,  saying  as  he  held  it  to  his 
mother,  "  For  Nan,  I  promised  it.  It  was  bought  at  the 
Halles,''  he  added,  more  dreamily. 

Tiien  again  he  dived,  and  brought  out  a  wax  medallion 
of  Our  Lady  guarded  by  angels,  and  made  the  sign  that 
always  brought  Cecily  to  him.  He  held  it  up  to  her  with 
a  puzzled  smile,  saying,  "  They  thought  me  a  mere  Papist 
for  buying  it — Monsieur  de  Teligny,  I  think  it  was.'^ 

They  had  heard  how  the  good  and  beloved  Teligny  had 
been  shot  down  on  the  roof  of  his  father-in-law's  house,  by 
rabid  assassins,  strangers  to  his  person,  when  all  who  knew 
him  had  spared  him,  from  love  to  his  gentle  nature;  and 
the  name  gave  a  strange  thrill. 

He  muttered  something  about  "  Peddler — Montjoipeau  " 
■ — and  still  continued.  Then  came  a  small  silver  casket, 
difi'using  an  odor  of  attar  of  roses — he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair— and  his  mother  would  have  taken  it  from  him,  sup- 
posing him  overcome  by  the  scent,  but  he  held  it  fast  and 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  145 

shook  his  liead,  sayiug,  *'  For  Lucy — but  she  must  give  it 
herself.  She  gave  up  any  gift  for  herself  for  it— she  said 
we  needed  no  love-tokens."  And  he  closed  his  e3'es.  Dame 
Annora  plunged  into  the  unpacking,  and  brought  out  a 
pocket-mirror  with  enameled  cujaids  in  the  corners,  ad- 
dressed to  herself;  and  then  came  upon  Berenger's  own. 

Again  came  a  fringed  pair  of  gloves  among  the  personal 
jewelery  such  as  gentlemen  were  wont  to  wear,  the  rings, 
clasps  and  brooches  he  had  carried  from  home.  Dame 
Annora ^s  impatience  at  last  found  vent  in  the  exclamation, 
"  The  pearls,  son;  I  do  not  see  the  chaplet  of  pearls." 

"  She  had  them, ''  answered  Berenger,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone,  "  to  wear  at  the  mask." 

''She—" 

Sir  Marmaduke's  great  hand  choked,  as  it  were,  the 
query  on  his  wife's  lips,  unseen  by  her  son,  who,  as  if  the 
words  had  touched  some  chord,  was  more  eagerly  seeking 
in  the  box,  and  pi*esently  drew  out  a  bow  of  carnation  lib- 
bon  with  a  small  piece  of  paj^er  full  of  pin-holes  attached 
to  it.  At  once  he  carried  it  to  his  lips,  kissed  it  fervently, 
and  then,  sinking  back  in  his  chair,  seemed  to  be  trying  to 
gather  up  the  memory  that  had  prompted  the  impulse, 
knitted  his  brows  together,  and  then  sucldenly  exclaimed, 
"  Where  is  she?" 

His  mother  tried  the  last  antecedent.  "  Lucy  she  shall 
come  and  thank  you  to-morrow." 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  vehement  negative,  beckoned 
Cecily  impatiently,  and  said  earnestly,  "Is  it  the  conta- 
gion?    Is  she  sick?     I  will  go  to  her. " 

Cecily  and  Sir  Marmaduke  both  replied  with  a  "  No, 
no!"  and  were  thankful,  though  in  much  suspense  at  the 
momentary  pause,  while  again  he  leaned  back  on  the  cush- 
ions, looked  steadily  at  the  pin-holes,  that  formed  them- 
selves into  the  word  "  Sweet  heart,"  then  suddenly  began 
to  draw  up  the  loose  sleeve  of  his  wrapping-gown  and  un- 
button the  wristband  of  his  right  sleeve.  His  mother  tried 
to  help  him,  asking  if  he  had  hurt  or  tired  his  arm.  They 
would  have  been  almost  glad  to  hear  that  it  was  so,  but  he 
shook  her  off  impatiently,  and  the  next  moment  had  a  view 
of  the  freshly  skinned  over,  but  still  wide  and  gaping  gash 
on  his  arm.  He  looked  for  a  brief  space,  and  said,  "  It  is 
a  sword-cut." 

**  Truly  it  is,  lad/'  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  "  and  a  very 


146  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

bad  one,  liajipily  wliole!  Is  this  tlie  first  time  you  have  seen 
it?" 

He  did  not  answer,  but  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
and  presently  burst  out  again,  "  Then  it  is  no  dream?  Sir — 
Have  I  been  to  France?'^ 

"  Yes,  my  son,  you  have,'^  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  gently, 
and  witli  more  tenderness  than  could  have  been  looked  for; 
"  but  what  passed  there  is  much  better  viewed  as  a  dream, 
and  cast  behind  your  back. " 

Berenger  had,  while  he  spoke,  taken  up  the  same  little 
mirror  where  he  had  once  admired  himself;  and  as  he  be- 
held the  scar  and  plaster  that  disfigured  his  face,  with  a 
fresh  start  of  recollection,  muttered  over,  "  '  Baurhouilhr, 
ce  cM  en  de  visage' — ay,  so  he  said.  I  felt  the.  pistol's 
muzzle  touch!  Narcisse!  Has  God  had  mercy  on  me?  I 
j^rayed  Him.  All!  '  leliaiscr  cV Euslacie' — so  he  said.  I 
was  waiting  in  the  dark.  Why  did  he  come  instead  of  her? 
Oh!  father,  where  is  she?" 

It  was  a  sore  task,  but  Sir  Marmaduke  went  bravely  and 
bluntly,  though  far  from  unkindly,  to  the  point:  "  She  re- 
mains with  her  friends  in  France." 

There  the  youth's  look  of  utter  horror  and  misery 
shocked  and  startled  them  all,  and  he  groaned  rather  than 
said,  "  Left  there!  Left  to  them!  What  have  I  done  to 
leave  her  there?" 

"  Come,  Berenger,  this  will  not  serve,"  said  his  mother, 
trying  to  rouse  and  cheer  him.  "  You  should  rather  be 
thankful  that  when  you  had  been  so  foully  insnared  by 
their  wiles,  good  Osbert  brought  you  off  with  your  life 
away  from  those  bloody  doings.  Yes,  you  may  thank 
Heaven  and  Osbert,  for  you  are  the  only  one  of  them  living 
now. " 

"  Of  whom,  mother?" 

"  Of  all  the  poor  Protestants  that  like  you  were  deluded 
by  the  pack  of  murderers  over  there.  What" — fancying 
it  would  exhilarate  him  to  hear  of  his  own  escape — "  you 
knew  not  that  the  bloody  Guise  and  the  Paris  cut-throats 
rose  and  slew  every  Huguenot  they  could  lay  hands  on? 
Why,  did  not  the  false  wench  put  off  your  foolish  runaway 
project  for  the  very  purjoose  of  getting  you  into  the  trap  on 
the  nio-ht  of  the  massacre?" 

He  looked  with  a  piteous,  appealing  glance  from  her  to 


THE    OHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  117 

Cecily  and  Sir  Marmaduke,  as  if  iu  hopes  that  they  would 
contradict. 

"Too  true,  my  lad/'  said  Sir  Marmadiike.  "  It  is 
Heaven's  good  mercy  that  Osbert  carried  you  out  alive. 
No  other  Protestant  left  the  palace  alive  but  the  King  of 
Navari'e  and  his  cousin,  who  turned  renegades." 

"  And  she  is  left  there?"  he  repeated. 

'•  Heed  her  not,  my  dear  boy,"  began  his  mother;  "  yon 
are  safe,  and  must  forget  her  ill-faith  and—" 

Bereuger  seemed  scarcely  to  hear  this  speech — he  held 
out  his  hands  as  if  stunned  and  dizzied,  and  only  said,  or 
rather  indicated,  "  Let  me  lie  down." 

His  step-father  almost  carried  him  across  the  room,  and 
laid  him  on  his  bed,  where  he  turned  away  from  tbe  light 
and  shut  his  eyes;  but  the  knot  of  ribbon  and  the  pin- 
pricked  word  was  still  in  his  hand,  and  his  mother  longed 
to  take  away  the  token  of  this  false  love,  as  she  believed  it. 
The  great  clock  struck  the  hour  for  her  to  go.  "  Leave 
him  quiet,"  said  Cecily,  gently;  "  he  can  bear  no  more 
now.  I  will  send  over  in  the  evening  to  let  you  know  how 
he  fares." 

*'  But  that  he  should  be  so  set  on  the  little  blood-thirsty 
baggage,"  sighed  Lady  Thistlewood;  and  then  going  up  to 
her  son,  she  jioured  out  her  exjilanation  of  being  unable  to 
stay,  as  her  parents  were  already  at  the  Manor,  with  no  bet- 
ter entertainers  than  Lucy,  Philip,  and  the  children.  She 
thanked  him  for  the  gifts,  which  she  would  take  to  them 
with  his  love.  All  this  j)assed  by  him  as  though  he  heard 
it  not,  but  when  leaning  down,  she  kissed  hia  forehead,  and 
at  the  same  time  tried  to  withdraw  the  knot  of  ribbon,  his 
fingers  closed  on  it  with  a  grasp  like  steel,  so  cold  were 
they,  yet  so  fast. 

Sir  Marmaduke  lingered  a  few  moments  behind  her,  and 
Berenger  opening  his  eyes,  as  if  to  see  whether  solitude  had 
been  achieved,  found  the  kind-hearted  knight  gazing  at 
him  with  eyes  full  of  tears.  ''Berry,  my  lad,"  he  said, 
"  bear  it  like  a  man.  I  know  how  hard  it  is.  There's  not 
a  woman  of  them  all  that  an  honest,  plain  Englishman 
has  a  chance  with,  when  a  smooth-tongued  Frenchman 
comes  round  her!  But  a  man  may  live  a  true  and  honest 
life  however  sore  his  heart  may  be,  and  God  Almighty 
makes  it  up  to  him  if  he  faces  it  out  manfully. " 

Good  Sir  Marmaduke  in  his  S3^mpathy  had  utterly  for- 


148  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

gotten  both  Berenger's  French  blood,  and  that  he  was  the 
son  of  the  very  smooth-tongued  interloper  who  had  robbed 
his  life  of  its  first  bloom,  J3erenger  was  altogether  unequal 
to  do  more  than  murmur,  as  he  held  out  his  hand  in  re- 
sponse to  the  kindness,  "  You  do  not  know  her.'^ 

"Ah!  poor  lad/'  Sir  Marmaduke  shook  his  head  and 
left  him  to  Cecily. 

After  the  first  shock,  Berenger  never  rested  till  he  had 
made  Osbert,  Mr.  Adderley,  and  Cecily  tell  him  all  they 
knew,  and  asked  by  name  after  those  whom  he  had  known 
best  at  Paris.  Alas !  of  all  those,  save  such  as  had  been  in 
the  embassador's  house,  there  was  but  one  account  to  give. 
Venerable  warrior,  noble-hearted  youth,  devoted  pastor,  all 
alike  had  perished! 

This  frightful  part  of  the  story  was  altogether  new  to 
bim.  He  had  been  probably  the  earliest  victim  in  the  Lou- 
vre, as  being  the  special  object  of  private  malice,  which 
had  contrived  to  involve  him  in  the  general  catastrophe; 
&nd  his  own  recollections  carried  him  only  to  the  flitting  of 
lights  and  ringing  of  bells,  that  had  made  him  imagine  that 
an  alarm  of  fire  would  afford  a  good  opportunity  of  escape 
if  she  would  but  come.  A  cloaked  figure  had  approached 
— he  had  held  out  his  arms — met  that  deadly  stroke — heard 
the  words  hissed  in  his  ear. 

He  owned  that  for  some  time  past  strange  recollections 
had  been  flitting  through  his  mind — a  perpetual  unsatisfied 
longing  for  and  expectation  of  his  wife,  and  confused  im- 
pressions of  scenes  and  people  that  harassed  him  perj)etu- 
ally,  even  when  he  could  not  discern  between  dreams  and 
reality;  but  knowing  that  he  had  been  very  ill,  he  had  en- 
deavored to  account  for  everything  as  delirious  fancies,  but 
had  become  increasingly  distressed  by  their  vividness,  con- 
fusion, and  want  of  outward  confirmation.  At  last  these 
solid  tokens  and  pledges  from  that  time  had  brought  cer- 
tainty back,  and  with  it  the  harmony  and  clearness  of  his 
memory;  and  the  strong  affection,  that  even  his  oblivion 
had  not  extinguished,  now  recurred  in  all  its  warmth  to  its 
object. 

Four  months  had  passed,  as  he  now  discovered,  since 
that  night  when  he  had  hoped  to  have  met  Eustacie,  and 
she  must  be  believing  him  dead.  His  first  measure  on  the 
following  day  when  "he  had  been  dressed  and  seated  in  his 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAT^LS.  149 

chair  was  to  send  for  his  casket,  and  witli  liis  slow  stiff  arm 
write  thus: 

"  MON     CCEUK,    MY     OWN    SWEETHEAET, — Hast     thou 

thought  me  dead,  and  thyself  deserted?  Osbert  will  tell 
thee  all,  and  why  I  can  scarce  write.  Trust  thyself  to  him 
to  bring  to  me.  I  shall  be  whole  seeing  thee.  Or  if  tliou 
canst  not  come  with  him,  write  or  send  me  the  least  token 
by  him,  and  I  will  come  and  bear  thee  home  so  soon  as  I 
can  put  foot  in  stirrup.  Would  that  I  could  write  all  that 
is  in  my  heart ! 

"  Thy  Husband.  " 

It  was  all  that  either  head  or  hand  would  enable  him  to 
say,  but  he  had  the  fullest  confidence  in  Landry  Osbert, 
who  was  one  of  the  few  who  understood  him  at  half  a  word. 
He  desired  Osbert  to  seek  the  lady  out  wherever  she  might 
be,  whether  still  at  court  or  in  a  convent,  convey  the  letter 
to  her  if  possible,  and,  if  she  could  by  any  means  escape, 
obtain  from  Chateau  Leurre  such  an  escort  as  she  could 
come  to  England  with.  If,  as  was  too  much  to  be  feared, 
she  was  under  too  close  restraint,  Osbert  should  send  intel- 
ligence home,  as  he  could  readily  do  through  the  embassa- 
dor's household,  and  Berenger  trusted  by  that  time  to  be 
able  to  take  measures  for  claiming  her  in  23erson, 

Osbert  readily  undertook  everything,  but  supplies  for  his 
journey  were  needed,  and  there  was  an  absolute  commotion 
in  the  house  when  it  was  known  that  Berenger  had  been 
writing  to  his  faithless  spouse,  and  wishing  to  send  for  her. 
Lord  Walwyn  came  up  to  visit  his  grandson,  and  explain 
to  him  with  much  jjityand  consideration  that  he  consideied 
such  a  step  as  vain,  and  only  likely  to  lead  to  further  in- 
sult. Berenger's  respect  forced  him  to  listen  without  inter- 
ruption, and  though  he  panted  to  answer,  it  was  a  matter 
of  much  dithculty,  for  the  old  lord  was  becoming  deaf,  and 
could  not  catch  the  indistinct,  agitated  words: 

"  My  lord,  she  is  innocent  as  day.^' 

"  Ah!    Anan,  boy?'' 

"  I  pledge  my  life  on  her  love  and  innocence." 

"  Love!  yes,  my  poor  boy;  but  if  she  be  unworthy?  Eh? 
Cecily,  what  says  he?" 

"  He  is  sure  of  her  innocence,  sir. " 

*'  That  is  of  course.     But,  my  dear  lad,  you  will  soon 


150  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

learn  that  even  a  gentle,  good  woman  who  has  a  conscience- 
keeper,  is  too  apt  to  think  her  ver}^  sense  of  right  ought  to 
be  sacrificed  to  what  she  calls  her  religion.  What  is  it, 
what  is  he  telling  you,  Cecily?'^ 

"  She  was  ready  to  be  one  of  us,"  Berenger  said,  with  a 
great  elf  or  t  to  make  it  clear. 

' '  Ah,  a  further  snare.  Poor  child !  The  very  softest  of 
them  become  the  worst  deceivers,  and  the  kindred  who 
have  had  the  charge  of  her  all  their  life  could  no  doubt 
bend  her  will. " 

"  Sir,"  said  Berenger,  finding  argument  impossible,  "  if 
you  will  but  let  me  disioatch  Osbert,  her  answer  will  prove 
to  you  what  she  is.'' 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  said  Lord  Walwyn,  when 
he  had  heard  it  repeated  by  Cecily.  "  It  is,  of  course, 
needful  that  both  she  and  her  relations  should  be  aware  of 
Berenger 's  life,  and  I  trotv  nothing  but  the  reply  will  con- 
vince him." 

"  Convince  him!"  muttered  Berenger.  ''  Oh,  that  I 
could  make  him  understand.  What  a  wretch  I  am  to  have 
no  voice  to  defend  her!" 

"  What?''  said  the  old  lord  again. 

"  Only  that  I  could  speak,  sir;  you  should  know  why  it 
is  sacrilege  to  doubt  her." 

"  Ah!  well,  we  will  not  wound  you,  my  son,  while  talk 
is  vain.  You  shall  have  the  means  of  sending  your  groom, 
if  thus  you  will  set  your  mind  at  rest,  though  I  had  rather 
have  trusted  to  Walsingham's  dealing.  I  will  myself  give 
him  a  letter  to  Sir  Francis,  to  forward  him  on  his  way;  and 
should  the  young  lady  prove  willing  to  hotel  to  her  contract 
and  come  to  you  here,  I  will  pra}^  him  to  do  everything  to 
aid  her  that  may  be  consistent  with  his  duty  in  his  jiost. " 

This  was  a  great  and  wonderful  concession  for  Lord  Wal- 
wyn,  and  Berenger  was  forced  to  be  contented  with  it, 
though  it  galled  him  terribly  to  have  Eustacie  distrusted, 
and  be  unable  to  make  his  vindication  even  heard  or  under- 
stood, as  well  as  to  be  forced  to  leave  her  rescue,  and  even 
his  own  exj^lanation  to  her,  to  a  mere  servant. 

This  revival  of  his  memory  had  not  at  all  conduced  to 
hii  progress  in  recovery.  His  brain  was  in  no  state  for  ex- 
citement or  agitation,  and  pain  and  confusion  were  the  con- 
seqaence,  and  were  counteracted,  after  the  practice  of  the 
time,  by  jn-of  use  bleedings,  which  prolonged  his  weakness. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  15 1 

The  splintered  state  of  the  jaw  and  roof  of  the  mouth  like- 
wise produced  effects  that  made  him  suffer  severely,  and 
deprived  him  at  times  even  of  the  small  power  of  sjjeech 
that  he  usually  possessed;  and  though  he  had  set  his  heart 
upon  being  able  to  start  for  Paris  so  soon  as  Osbert's  an- 
swer should  arrive,  each  little  imprudence  he  committed, 
in  order  to  convince  himself  of  his  progress,  threw  him 
back  so  seriously,  that  he  was  barely  able  to  walk  down- 
stairs to  the  hall,  and  sit  watching — watching,  so  that  it 
was  piteous  to  see  him — the  gates  of  the  courtyard,  by  the 
time  that,  on  a  cold  March  day,  a  booted  and  spurred 
courier  (not  Osbert)  entered  by  them. 

He  sprung  up,  and  faster  than  he  had  yet  attempted  to 
move,  met  the  man  in  the  hall,  and  demanded  the  packet. 
It  was  a  large  one,  done  up  in  canvas,  and  addressed  to  the 
Kight  Honorable  and  Worshipful  Sir  William,  Baron  AVal- 
wyn  of  Hurst  Walwyn,  and  he  had  further  to  endure  the 
delay  of  carrying  it  to  his  grandfather's  library,  which  he 
entered  with  far  less  delay  and '  ceremony  than  was  his 
wont.  "  Sit  down,  Berenger,"  said  the  old  man,  while 
addressing  himself  to  the  fastenings;  and  the  permission 
was  needed,  for  he  could  hardly  have  stood  another  minute. 
The  covering  contained  a  letter  to  Lord  Walwyn  himself, 
and  a  packet  addressed  to  the  Baron  de  Eibaumont,  which 
his  trembling  fingers  could  scarcely  succeed  in  cutting  and 
tearing  open. 

How  shall  it  be  told  what  the  contents  of  the  packet 
were?  Lord  Walwyn  reading  on  with  much  concern,  but 
little  surprise,  was  nevertheless  startled  by  the  fierce  shout 
with  which  Berenger  broke  out: 

"A  lie!  a  lie  forged  in  hell!''  And  then  seizing  the 
parchment,  was  about  to  rend  it  with  all  the  force  of  pas- 
sion, when  his  grandfather,  seizing  his  hand,  said,  in  his 
calm,  authoritative  voice,  "  Patience,  my  poor  son." 

"  How,  how  should  I  have  patience  when  they  send  me 
such  poisoned  lies  as  these  of  my  wife,  and  she  is  in  the 
power  of  the  villains.   Grandfather,  I  must  go  instantly — " 

"  Let  me  know  what  you  have  heard,"  said  Lord  Wal- 
wyn, holding  him  feebly  indeed,  but  with  all  the  impress- 
ive power  and  gravity  of  his  years. 

'  Falsehoods,"  said  Berenger,  pushing  the  whole  mass 
of  papers  over  to  him,  and  then  hiding  his  head  between 
his  arms  on  the  table. 


152  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAEL8, 

Lord  Walwyn  finished  his  own  kitter  first.  Walsingham 
wrote  with  much  kind  compassion,  but  quite  decisively.  He 
had  no  doubt  that  the  Kibaumont  family  bad  acted  as  one 
wheel  in  the  great  plot  that  had  destroyed  all  the  heads  of 
Protestant  families  and  swept  away  among  others,  as  they 
had  hoped,  the  only  scion  of  the  rival  house.  The  old  Chev- 
alier de  Eibaumont  had,  be  said,  begun  by  expressing  sor- 
row for  the  mischance  that  had  exposed  his  brave  young 
cousin  to  be  lost  in  the  general  catastrophe,  and  he  had 
professed  proportionate  satisfaction  on  hearing  of  the  young 
man's  safety.  But  the  embassador  believed  him  to  have 
been  privy  to  his  son's  designs;  and  whether  Mile,  de  Nid- 
de-Merle  herself  had  been  a  willing  agent  or  not,  she  cer- 
tainly had  remained  in  the  hands  of  tlie  family.  The  de- 
cree annulling  the  marriage  had  been  published,  the  lady 
Avas  in  a  convent  in  Anjou,  and  Narcisse  de  Eibaumont 
had  just  been  permitted  to  assume  the  title  of  Marquis  de 
Nid-de-Merle,  and  was  gone  into  Anjou  to  espouse  her.  Sir 
Francis  added  a  message  of  commiseration  for  the  young 
baron,  but  could  not  help  congratulating  his  old  friend  on 
having  his  grandson  safe  and  free  from  these  inconvenient 
ties. 

Berenger's  own  packet  contained,  in  the  first  place,  a 
copy  of  the  cassation  of  tbe  marriage,  on  the  ground  of  its 
liaving  been  contracted  when  the  parties  were  of  too  tender 
age  to  give  their  legal  consent,  and  its  having  been  unsatis- 
fied since  they  had  reached  ecclesiastical  years  for  lawful 
contraction  of  wedlock. 

The  second  was  one  of  the  old  chevalier's  polite  produc- 
tions. He  was  perfectly  able  to  ignore  Berenger's  revoca- 
tion of  his  application  for  the  separation,  since  the  first  let- 
ter had  remained  unanswered,  and  the  king's  peremptory 
commands  had  prevented  Berenger  from  taking  any  open 
measures  after  his  return  from  Montpipeau.  Thus  the  old 
gentleman,  after  expressing  due  rejoicing  at  his  dear  young 
cousin's  recovery,  and  regret  at  the  unfortunate  mischance 
that  had  led  to  his  being  confounded  with  tbe  many  sus- 
pected Huguenots,  proceeded  as  if  matters  stood  exactly  as 
they  had  been  before  the  pall-mall  party,  and  as  if  the  de- 
cree that  he  inclosed  were  obtained  in  accordance  with  ihe 
young  baron's  intentions.  He  had  caused  it  to  be  duly 
registered,  and  both  parties  were  at  lil)erty  to  enter  upon 
other  contracts  of  matrimony.     The  further  arrangements 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  153 

which  Berenger  had  undertaken  to  sell  his  lands  in  Nor- 
mandy, and  his  claim  on  the  ancestral  castle  in  Picardy, 
should  be  carried  out,  and  deeds  sent  for  his  signature  so 
soon  as  he  should  be  of  age.  In  the  meantime,  the  cheva- 
lier courteously  imparted  to  his  fair  cousin  the  marriage  of 
his  daughter.  Mile.  Diane  de  Kibaumont  with  M.  le  Comte 
de  Selinville,  which  had  taken  place  on  the  last  St.  Martiii's- 
day,  and  of  his  niece.  Mile.  Eustacie  de  Ribaumont  de  Nid- 
de-Merle  with  his  son,  who  had  received  permission  to  take 
her  father's  title  of  Marquis  de  Nid-de-Merle.  The  wed- 
ding Avas  to  take  plaoe  at  Bellaise  before  the  end  of  the 
carnival,  and  would  be  concluded  before  this  letter  came  to 
hand. 

Lastly,  there  was  an  ill  written  and  spelled  letter,  run- 
ning somewhat  thus: 

"  MoNSEiGNEUE, — Your  faithful  servant  hopes  that 
Monsieur  le  Baron  will  forgive  him  for  not  returning,  since 
I  have  been  assured  by  good  priests  that  it  is  not  possible  to 
save  my  soul  in  a  country  of  heretics.  I  have  done  every- 
thing as  monsieur  commanded,  I  have  gone  down  into  An- 
ion, and  have  had  the  honor  to  see  the  young  lady  to  whom 
Monsieur  le  Baron  charged  me  with  a  commission,  and  I 
delivered  to  her  his  letter,  whereupon  the  lady  replied  that 
she  thanked  Monsieur  le  Baron  for  the  honor  he  had  done 
her,  but  that  being  on  the  point  of  marriage  to  Monsieur 
le  Marquis  de  Nid-de-Merle,  she  did  not  deem  it  fitting  to 
write  to  him,  nor  had  she  any  tokens  to  send  him,  save 
what  he  had  received  on  the  St.  Barthelemy  midnight;  they 
might  further  his  suit  elsewhere.  These,  monsieur,  were 
her  words,  and  she  laughed  as  she  said  them,  so  gayly  that 
I  thought  her  fairer  tlian  ever.  I  have  prevailed  with  her 
to  take  me  into  her  service  as  intendant  of  the  Chateau  de 
Nid-de-Merle,  knowing  as  she  does,  my  fidelity  to  the  name 
of  Kibaumont.  And  so,  trusting  monseigneur  will  pardon 
me  for  what  I  do  solely  for  the  good  of  my  soul,  I  will  ever 
pray  for  his  welfare,  and  remain, 

"  His  faithful  menial  and  valet, 

"  Landry  Osbert.'' 

The  result  was  only  what  Lord  Walwyn  had  anticipated, 
l?ut  he  was  nevertheless  shocked  at  the  crushing  weight  of 
the  blow.     His  her^rt  was  full  of  compassion  for  the  youth 


154  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

SO  cruelly  treated  iu  these  his  first  years  of  life,  and  as  much 
torn  in  his  affections  as  mangled  in  person.  After  a  pause, 
while  he  gathered  up  the  sense  of  the  letters,  he  laid  his 
hand  kindly  on  his  grandson's  arm,  and  said,  '"'  This  is  a  wo- 
ful  budget,  my  poor  son;  we  will  do  our  best  to  help  you 
to  bear  it. ' ' 

"  The  only  way  to  bear  it,"  said  Berenger,  lifting  up  his 
face,  "  is  for  me  to  take  horse  and  make  for  Anjou  in- 
stantly.  She  will  hold  out  bravely,  and  I  may  yet  save  her. " 

"  Madness,"  said  his  grandfather;  "  you  have  then  not 
read  your  fellow's  letter?" 

"  I  read  no  letter  from  fellow  of  mine.  Yonder  is  a  vile 
forgery.  Narcisse's  own,  most  likely.  No  one  else  would 
have  so  profaned  her  as  to  put  such  words  into  her  mouth! 
My  dear  faithful  foster-brother — have  they  murdered  him?" 

"  Can  you  point  to  any  proof  that  it  is  forged?"  said 
Lord  Walwyn,  aware  that  handwriting  was  too  difficult  an 
art,  and  far  too  crabbed,  among  persons  of  Osbert's  class, 
for  there  to  be  any  individuality  of  penmanshi]^. 

"  It  is  all  forged,"  said  Berenger.  "  It  is  as  false  that 
she  could  frame  such  a  message  as  that  poor  Osbert  would 
leave  me. " 

"  These  priests  have  much  power  over  the  conscience,"' 
began  Lord  Walwyn;  but  Berenger,  interrupting  his  grand- 
father for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  cried,  ''  No  priest  could 
change  her  whole  nature.  Oh!  my  wife!  my  darling!  what 
may  they  not  be  inflicting  on  her  now?  Sir,  I  must  go. 
She  may  be  saved!  The  deadly  sin  may  be  prevented!" 

"This  is  mere  raving,  Berenger,"  said  Lord  Walwyn, 
not  catching  half  what  he  said,  and  understanding  little 
more  than  his  resolution  to  hasten  in  quest  of  the  lady. 
"  You,  who  have  not  mounted  a  horse,  nor  walked  across 
the  pleasaunce  yet!" 

"  My  limbs  should  serve  me  to  rescue  her,  or  they  are 
worth  nothing  to  me." 

Lord  Walwyn  would  have  arged  that  ho  need  not  regret 
Ilia  incajiacity  to  move,  since  it  was  no  doubt  already  too 
late,  but  Berenger  burst  forth^"  She  will  resist;  she  will 
resist  to  the  utmost,  even  if  she  deems  me  dead.  Tortures 
will  not  shake  her  when  she  knows  I  live.  I  must  prepare." 
And  he  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Grandson,"  said  Lord  Walwyn,  laying  a  hand  on  his 
arm,    "  listen   to   me.     You  are  in  no  state  to  judge  for 


THE    CIIATLET    OF    PEARLS.  155 

yourself.  I  therefore  command  you  to  desist  from  this  mad 
inirj)ose. " 

lie  spoke  gravely,  but  Berenger  was  disobedient  for  the 
first  time.  "  My  lord,"  lie  said,  "  you  are  but  my  grand- 
father.    She  is  my  wife.     My  duty  is  to  her. " 

lie  had  plucked  his  sleeve  away  and  was  gone,  before 
Lord  Walwyn  had  been  able  to  reason  with  him  that  there 
was  no  wife  in  the  case,  a  conclusion  at  which  the  old  states- 
man would  not  have  arrived  had  he  known  of  the  ceremony 
at  Montpipeau,  and  all  that  had  there  passed;  but  not  only 
did  Berenger  deem  himself  bound  to  respect  the  king's  se- 
cret, but  conversation  was  so  difficult  to  him  that  he  had 
told  very  little  of  his  adventures,  and  less  to  Lord  Walwyn 
than  any  one  else.  In  effect,  his  grandfather  considered 
this  resolution  of  going  to  France  as  mere  frenzy,  and  so  it 
almost  was,  not  only  on  the  score  of  health  and  danger, 
but  because  as  a  ward,  he  was  still  so  entirely  under  sub- 
jection, that  his  journey  could  have  been  hindered  by  ab- 
solutely forcible  detention;  and  to  this  Lord  Walwyn  in- 
tended to  resort,  unless  the  poor  youth  either  came  to  a 
more  rational  mind,  or  became  absolutely  unable  to  travel. 

The  last — as  he  had  apprehended — came  to  pass  only  too 
surely.  The  very  attempt  to  argue,  and  to  defend  Eustacie 
was  too  much  for  the  injured  head;  and  long  before  night 
Berenger  fully  believed  himself  on  the  journey,  acted  over 
its  incidents,  and  struggled  wildly  with  difficulties,  all  the 
time  lying  on  his  bed,  with  the  old  servants  holding  him 
down,  and  Cecily  listening  tearfully  to  his  ravings. 

For  weeks  longer  he  was  to  lie  there  in  greater  danger 
than  ever.  He  only  seemed  soothed  into  quiet  when  Cecily 
chanted  those  old  Latin  hymns  of  her  Benedictine  rule,  and 
then — when  he  could  speak  at  all — he  showed  himself  to  be 
in  imagination  praying  in  Eustacie's  convent  chapel,  sure 
to  speak  to  her  when  the  service  should  be  over. 


156  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

NOTEE-DAME  DE  BELLAISE.* 

There  came  a  man  by  middle  day, 
He  spied  bis  sport  and  went  away, 
And  brougbt  tbe  king  that  very  night, 
And  brake  my  bower  and  slew  my  knight. 

The  Border  Widoic's  Lament. 

That  same  Latin  hymn  which  Cecily  St.  John  daily 
chanted  in  her  own  chamber  was  due  from  the  choir  of 
Cistercian  sisters  in  the  chapel  of  the  Convent  of  our  Lady 
at  Bellaise,  in  the  Bocage  of  Anjou;  but  there  was  a  con- 
venient practice  of  lumping  together  the  entire  night  and 
forenoon  hours  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  all  the 
evening  ones  at  Comj^line,  so  that  the  sisters  might  have 
undistiirbed  sleep  at  night  and  entertainment  by  day.  Bell- 
aise was  a  very  comfortable  little  nunnery,  which  only  re- 
ceived richly  dowered  inmates,  and  was  therefore  able  to 
maintain  them  in  much  ease,  though  without  giving  occa- 
sion to  a  breath  of  scandal.  Founded  by  a  daughter  of  the 
first  Angevin  Ribaumont,  it  had  become  a  sort  of  appanage 
for  the  superfluous  daughters  of  the  house,  and  nothing- 
would  more  have  amazed  its  present  head,  Eustacie  Bai-be 
de  Ribaumont — con  vent  ually  known  as  La  Mere  Marie 
Seraphine  de  St.  Louis,  and  to  the  world  as  Mme.  de  Bell- 
aise— than  to  be  accused  of  not  fulfilling  the  intentions  of 
the  Bienheureuse  Barbe,  the  foundress,  or  of  her  patron 
St.  Bernard. 

Mme.  de  Bellaise  was  a  fine-looking  woman  of  forty,  in  a 
high  state  of  preservation  owing  to  the  healthy  life  she  had 
led.  Her  eyes  were  of  brilliant,  beautiful  black,  her  com- 
plexion had  a  glow,  her  hair — for  she  wore  it  visibly — 
formed  crisp  rolls  of  jetty  ringlets  on  her  temples,  almost 
hiding  her  close  white  cap.  The  heavy  thick  veil  was 
tucked  back  beneath  the  furred  j^urple  silk  hood  that  fast- 
ened under  her  chin.     The  white  robes  of  her  order  were 

*  Bellaise  is  not  meant  for  a  type  of  all  nunneries,  but  of  the  con- 
dition to  which  many  of  the  lesser  ones  had  come  before  the  general 
reaction  and  purification  of  the  seventeenth  century. 


I'HE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  157 

not  of  serge,  but  of  the  finest  cloth,  and  were  almost  liiddoi 
by  a  short  purjile  cloak  with  sleeves,  likewise  lined  and 
edged  with  fur,  and  fastened  on  the  bosom  with  a  gold 
brooch.  Her  fingers,  bearing  more  rings  than  the  signet  of 
her  house,  were  concealed  in  embroidered  gauntlets  of 
Spanish  leather.  One  of  them  held  an  ivory-handled  rid- 
ing-rod, the  other  the  reins  of  the  well-fed  jennet,  on  which 
the  lady,  on  a  fine  afternoon  late  in  the  carnival,  was  can- 
tering home  through  the  lanes  of  the  Bocage,  after  a  suc- 
cessful morning's  hawking  among  the  wheat  ears.  Sbe 
was  attended  by  a  pair  of  sisters,  arrayed  somewhat  in  the 
same  style,  and  by  a  pair  of  mounted  grooms,  the  falconer 
with  his  charge  having  gone  home  by  a  footway. 

The  sound  of  horses'  feet  approaching  made  her  look  to- 
ward a  long  lane  that  came  'down  at  right  angles  to  that 
along  which  she  was  riding,  and  slacken  her  pace  before 
coming  to  its  opening.  And  as  she  arrived  at  the  intersec- 
tion, she  beheld  advancing,  mounted  on  a  little  rough  pony, 
the  spare  figure  of  her  brother  the  chevalier,  in  his  home 
suit,  so  greasy  and  frayed,  that  only  his  plumed  hat  (and  a 
rusty  plume  it  was)  and  the  old  sword  at  his  side  showed 
his  high  degree. 

He  waved  his  hand  to  her  as  a  sign  to  halt,  and  rode 
quickly  up,  scarcely  giving  time  for  a  greeting  ere  he  said, 
"  Sister,  the  little  one  is  not  out  with  you." 

"  No,  truly,  the  little  mad  thing,  she  is  stricter  and  more 
headstrong  than  ever  was  her  preceptress.  Poor  Monique! 
I  had  hoped  that  we  should  be  at  rest  when  that  casse-tete 
had  carried  oft'  her  scruples  to  Ste.  Claire,  at  Lucon,  but 
here  is  this  little  droll  far  beyond  her,  without  being  even 
a  nun!" 

"  Assuredly  not.  The  business  must  be  concluded  at 
once.     She  must  be  married  before  Lent." 

"  That  will  scarce  be — in  her  present  frame." 

"  It  must  be.  Listen,  sister.  Here  is  this  miserable 
alive!" 

"  Her  spouse!'* 

' '  Folly  about  her  spouse !  The  decree  from  Rome  has 
annulled  the  foolish  mummery  of  her  infancy.  It  came  a 
week  after  the  Protestant  conspiracy,  and  was  registered 
when  the  Norman  jjeasants  at  Chateau  Leurre  showed  con- 
tumacy. It  was  well;  for,  behold,  our  gallant  is  among 
his  English  friends,  recovering,  and  even  writing  a  billet. 


158  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

Anon  lie  will  be  upon  our  hands  in  person.  By  the  best 
fortune,  Gillot  fell  in  with  his  messenger  this  morning, 
prowling  about  on  his  way  to  the  convent,  and  brought 
nim  to  me  to  be  examined.  I  laid  him  fast  in  ward,  and 
sent  Gillot  off  to  ride  day  and  night  to  bring  my  son  down 
to  secure  the  girl  at  once." 

"  You  will  never  obtain  her  consent.  She  is  distractedly 
in  love  with  his  memory!  Let  her  guess  at  his  life,  and — " 
"  Precisely.  Therefore  must  we  be  speedy.  All  Paris 
knows  it  by  this  time,  for  the  fellow  went  straight  to  the 
English  embassador;  and  I  trust  my  son  has  been  wise 
enough  to  set  off  already;  for  should  we  wait  till  after  Lent, 
Monsieur  le  Baron  himself  might  be  upon  us.''^ 

"Poor  child!  You  men  Uttle  heed  how  you  make  a 
woman  suffer. " 

"  How,  reverend  mother!  you  pleading  for  a  heretic  mar- 
riage, that  would  give  our  rights  to  a  Huguenot — what  say 
I? — an  English  renegade!" 

"  I  plead  not,  brother.  The  injustice  toward  you  must 
be  repaired;  but  I  have  a  certain  love  for  my  niece,  and  I 
fear  she  will  be  heart-broken  when  she  learns  the  truth, 
the  poor  child. " 

"Bah!  The  abbess  should  rejoice  in  thus '  saving  her 
soul!  How  if  her  heretic  treated  Bellaise  Uke  the  convents 
of  England?" 

"  No  threats,  brother.  As  a  daughter  of  Ribaumont 
and  a  mother  of  the  Church  will  I  stand  by  you,"  said  the 
abbess  with  dignity. 

"  And  now  tell  me  how  it  has  been  with  the  child.  I 
have  not  seen  her  since  we  agreed  that  the  request  did  but 
aggravate  her.  You  said  her  health  was  better  since  her 
nurse  had  been  so  often  with  her,  and  that  she  had  ceased 
from  her  austerities." 

"  Not  entirely;  for  when  first  she  came,  in  her  transports 
of  despair  and  grief  on  finding  Soeur  Monique  removed, 
she  extorted  from  Father  Bonami  a  sort  of  hope  that  she 
might  yet  save  her  husband's,  I  mean  the  baron's,  soul. 
Then,  truly,  it  was  a  frenzy  of  fasts  and  prayers.  Father 
Bonami  has  made  his  profit,  and  so  have  the  fathers  of 
Chollet — all  her  money  has  gone  in  masses,  and  in  alms  to 
purchase  the  prayers  of  the  poor,  and  she  herself  fasting  on 
bread  and  water,  Icneeling  barefooted  in  the  chapel  till  she 
"Was  transfixed  with  cold.     No  chaufferette,  not  she!    Ob- 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  159 

siinatc  to  the  last  degree!  Tell  her  she  would  die — it  was 
the  best  news  one  could  bring;  all  her  desire,  to  be  in  a 
more  rigid  house  with  Soeur  Monique  at  Lucon.  At  length. 
Mere  Perriiie  and  Veronique  found  her  actually  fainting 
and  powerless  with  cold  on  the  chapel-lloor;  and  since  that 
time  she  has  been  more  reasonable.  There  are  prayers  as 
much  as  ever;  but  the  fancy  to  ivill  herself  with  fasting  has 
passed.  She  begins  to  recover  her  loolvs,  nay,  sometimes  I 
have  thought  she  had  an  air  of  hope  in  her  eyes  and  lips; 
but  what  know  I?  I  have  much  to  occupy  me,  and  she 
persists  in  shutting  herself  up  with  her  woman. " 

"  You  have  not  allowed  her  any  communication  from 
without?'^ 

"  Mere  Perrine  has  come  and  gone  freely;  but  she  is 
nothing.  No,  the  child  could  have  no  correspondence.  She 
did,  indeed,  write  a  letter  to  the  queen,  as  you  know, 
brother,  six  weeks  ago;  but  that  has  never  been  answered, 
nor  could  any  letters  have  harmed  you,  since  it  is  only  now 
that  this  young  man  is  known  to  be  living." 

"  You  are  right,  sister.  No  harm  can  have  been  done. 
All  will  go  well.  The  child  must  be  wearied  with  her 
frenzy  of  grief  and  devotion!  She  will  catch  gladly  at  an 
excuse  for  change.  A  scene  or  two,  and  she  will  readily 
yield!" 

"  It  is  true,'"  said  the  abbess,  thoughtfully,  "  that  she 
has  walked  and  ridden  out  lately.  She  has  asked  ques- 
tions about  her  chateau,  and  their  garrisons.  I  have  heard 
nothing  of  the  stricter  convent  for  many  weeks;  but  still, 
brother,  you  must  go  warily  to  work.'' 

''  And  you,  sister,  must  show  no  relenting.  Let  her 
not  fancy  she  can  work  upon  you. " 

By  this  time  the  brother  and  sister  were  at  the  gate-way 
of  the  convent;  a  lay  sister  presided  there,  but  there  was 
no  cloture,  as  the  strict  seclusion  of  a  nunnery  was  called, 
and  the  chevalier  rode  into  the  cloistered  quadrangle  as 
naturally  as  if  he  had  been  entering  a  secular  chateau,  dis- 
mounted at  the  porch  of  the  hall,  and  followed  Mme.  de 
Bellaise  to  the  parlor,  while  she  dispatched  a  request  that 
her  niece  would  attend  her  there. 

The  parlor  had  no  grating  to  divide  it,  but  was  merely 
a  large  room  furnished  with  tapiestry,  carved  chests,  chairs, 
and  cushions,  much  like  other  reception-rooms.  A  large, 
cheerful  wood-fire  blazed  upon  the  hearth,  and  there  was  a 


IGO  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

certain  air  of  preparation,  as  indeed  an  ecclesiastical  dignita- 
ry from  Sauniur  was  expected  to  swp  with  the  ladies  that 
evening. 

After  some  interval,  sj^eut  by  the  chevalier  in  warming 
himself,  alow  voice  at  the  door  was  heard,  saying,  "Domhius 
vohiscimi."  The  abbess  answered,  "  Et  mm  spirit u  tuo  ;" 
and  on  this  monastic  substitute  for  a  knock  and  "  come 
in,'"  there  appeared  a  figure  draped  and  veiled  from  head 
to  foot  in  heavy  black,  so  as  to  look  almost  like  a  sable 
moving  cone.  She  made  an  obeisance  as  she  entered,  say- 
ing, "  You  commanded  my  presence,  madame?'" 

"  Your  uncle  would  speak  to  you,  daughter,  on  affairs  of 
momenf 

"  At  his  service.     I,  too,  would  speak  to  him. " 

"  First,  then,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  chevalier,  "  let 
me  see  you.  That  face  must  not  be  muffled  any  longer 
from  those  who  love  you."" 

She  made  no  movement  of  obedience,  until  her  aunt  per- 
emiotorily  bade  her  turn  back  her  veil.  She  did  so,  and 
disclosed  the  little  face,  so  well  known  to  her  uncle,  but 
less  childish  in  its  form,  and  the  dark  eyes  less  sparkling, 
though  at  once  softer  and  more  resolute. 

"Ah!  my  fair  niece,"'  said  the  chevalier,  "this  is  no 
visage  to  be  hidden!  I  am  glad  to  see  it  re-embellished, 
and  it  will  be  lovelier  than  ever  when  you  have  cast  off  this 
disguise." 

"  That  will  never  he,"  said  Eustacie. 

'•  Ah!  we  know  better!  My  daughter  is  sending  down  a 
coimterj>art  of  her  own  wedding-dress  for  our  pride  of  the 
Mardi  Gras." 

"  And  who  may  that  bride  be?"  said  Eustacie,  en- 
deavoring to  speak  as  though  it  were  nothing  to  her. 

"  'Naj,  ina  petite!  it  is  too  long  to  play  the  ignorant 
when  the  bridegroom  is  on  his  way  from  Paris," 

"  Madame,"  said  Eustacie,  turning  to  her  aunt,  "you 
can  not  suffer  this  scandal.  The  meanest  peasant  may 
weep  her  first  year  of  widowhood  m  peace, " 

"  Listen,  child.  There  are  weighty  reasons.  The  Duke 
of  Anjou  is  a  candidate  for  the  throne  of  Poland,  and  my 
son  is  to  accompany  him  thither.  He  must  go  as  Marquis 
de  Nid-de-Merle,  in  full  possession  of  your  estates." 

"Let  him  take  them,"  began  Eustacie,  but  broke  off 
half-way  through,  with  a  muttered  "  Oh — no." 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  IGl 

"That  is  cliOtlisli,  a,s  I  see  you  perceive/^  said  licr 
uncle;  "  iuconsisfent  witli  his  honor.''' 

"  Does  ho  sjictik  of  honor/'  said  Eustacie,  "  who  first 
commits  a  cowardly  murder,  and  then  forces  himself  on 
the  widow  he  has  made?" 

"Folly,  child,  folly,"  said  the  chevalier,  who  sujiposed 
her  ignorant  of  the  circumstances  of  her  husband's  assas- 
sination; and  the  abbess,  who  was  really  ignorant,  ex- 
claimed— "  Ft  done,  niece;  you  know  not  what  you  say." 

"  I  know,  madame — I  know  from  an  eye-witness,"  said 
Eustacic,  firmly.  "  I  know  the  brutal  words  that  imbit- 
tered  my  husband's  death;  and  were  there  no  other  cause, 
they  would  render  wedlock  with  him  who  spoke  them  sac- 
rilege."  Eesolutely  and  steadily  did  the  young  wife  speak, 
looking  at  them  with  the  dry  fixed  eyes  to  which  tears  had 
been  denied  ever  since  that  eventful  night. 

"  Poor  child,"  said  the  chevalier  to  his  sister.  "  She  is 
under  the  delusion  still.  Husband!  There  is  none  in  the 
case."  Then  waving  his  hand  as  Eustacie's  face  grew  crim- 
son, and  her  eyes  flashed  indignation,  Avhile  her  li]is  parted: 
"  It  was  her  own  folly  that  rendered  it  needful  to  put  an 
end  to  the  boy's  presumption.  Had  she  been  less  willful 
and  more  obedient,  instead  of  turning  the  poor  lad's  head 
by  playing  at  madame,  we  could  have  let  him  return  to  his 
island  fogs;  but  when  she  encouraged  him  in  contemplat- 
ing the  carrying  her  away,  and  alienating  her  and  her  lands 
from  the  true  faith,  there  was  but  one  remedy — to  let  him 
perish  with  the  rest.  My  son  is  willing  to  forgive  her  child- 
ish pleasure  hi  a  boy's  passing  homage,  and  has  obtained 
the  king's  sanction  to  an  immediate  marriage." 

"Which,  to  spare  you,  my  dear,"  added  the  aunt, 
"  shall  take  place  in  our  chapel." 

"It  shall  never  take  place  anywhere,"  said  Eustacie, 
quietly,  though  with  a  quiver  in  her  voice;  "  no  priest  will 
wed  ipe  when  he  has  heard  me." 

"  The  dispensation  will  overcome  all  scruples,"  said  the 
abbess.  "  Hear  me,  niece.  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  it  is 
best  that  you  should  know  at  once  that  there  is  nothing  in 
heaven  or  earth  to  aid  you  in  resisting  your  duty. " 

Eustacie  made  no  answer,  but  there  was  a  strange  half- 
smile  on  her  lip,  and  a  light  in  her  eye  which  gave  her  an 
air  not  so  much  of  entreaty  as  of  defiance.  She  glanced 
from  one  to  the  other  as  if  considering,  but  then  slightly 


162  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

shook  her  head.  "  W'aat  does  she  mean?"  asked  the  cheva- 
lier and  the  abbess  one  of  another,  as,  with  a  dignified  gest- 
ure, she  moved  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Follow  her.  Convince  that  she  has  no  hope/'  said  the 
uncle;  and  the  abbess,  moving  faster  than  her  wont,  came 
up  with  her  at  the  archway  wiience  one  corridor  led  to  the 
chapel,  another  to  her  own  apartments.  Her  veil  was  down 
again,  but  her  aunt  roughly  withdrew  it,  saying,  "  Look  at 
me,  Eustacie.  I  come  to  warn  you  that  you  need  not  look 
to  tamper  with  the  sisters.  Not  one  will  aid  you  in  your 
headstrong  folly.  If  you  cast  not  off  ere  supper-time  this 
mockery  of  mourning,  you  shall  taste  of  that  discijiline 
you  used  to  sigh  for.  We  have  borne  with  your  fancy  long 
enough — you,  who  are  no  more  a  widow  than  I^ — nor  wife.  " 

"  Wife  and  widow  am  I  in  the  sight  of  Him  who  will 
protect  me,''  said  Eustacie,  standing  her  ground. 

"  Insolent!  Why,  did  I  not  excuse  this  as  a  childish  de- 
lusion, should  I  not  spurn  one  who  durst  love — what  say  I 
— not  a  heretic  merely,  but  the  foe  of  her  father's  house?" 

"  He!"  cried  Eustacie;  "  what  had  he  ever  done?" 

"  He  inherited  the  blood  of  the  traitor  baron,"  returned 
her  aunt.  "  Ever  have  that  recreant  line  injured  us!  My 
nephew's  sword  avenged  the  wrongs  of  many  generations." 

"  Then,"  said  Eustacie,  looking  at  her  with  a  steady, 
fixed  look  of  inquiry,  "  you,  Madame  I'Abbesse,  would 
have  neither  mercy  nor  pity  for  the  most  innocent  offspring 
of  the  elder  line?" 

"  Girl,  what  folly  is  this  to  talk  to  me  of  innocence. 
That  is  not  the  question.  The  (question  is — obey  -willingly 
as  my  dear  daughter,  or  comj)ulsion  must  be  used?" 

"  My  question  is  answered,"  said  Eustacie,  on  her  side. 
"  I  see  that  there  is  neither  pity  nor  hope  from  you." 

And  with  another  obeisance,  she  turned  to  ascend  the 
stairs.     Madame  paced  back  to  her  brotber. 

"  What,"  he  said;  "  you  have  not  yet  dealt  with  her?" 

"  No,  brother,  I  never  saw  a  like  mood.  She  seems 
neither  to  fear  nor  to  struggle.  I  knew  she  was  too  true  a 
Ribaumont  for  weak  tears  and  entreaties;  but,  fiery  little 
being  as  once  she  was,  I  looked  to  see  her  force  spend  itself 
in  passion,  and  that  then  the  victory  would  have  been 
easy;  but  no,  she  ever  looks  as  if  she  had  some  inward  re- 
source— some  security — and  therefore  could  be  calm.  I 
should  deem  it  some  Huguenot  fanaticism,  but  she  is  a  very 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  1G3 

saint  as  to  tlie  prayers  of  the  Church,  the  very  torment  of 
our  lives. '^ 

,"  Could  she  escape?"  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  who  had 
been  considering  while  his  sister  was  speaking. 

"Impossible!  Besides,  where  could  she  go?  Bat  the 
gates  shall  be  closed.  I  will  warn  the  portress  to  let  none 
pass  out  without  my  permission. " 

The  chevalier  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  room;  then 
exclaimed,  ''  It  was  very  ill-advised  to  let  her  women  have 
access  to  her!  Let  us  have  Veronique  summoned  instantly.^' 

At  that  moment,  however,  the  ponderous  carriage  of 
monseigneur,  with  out-riders,  both  lay  and  clerical,  came 
trampling  up  to  the  archway  and  the  abbess  hurried  off  to 
her  own  apartment  to  divest  herself  of  her  hunting-gear 
ere  she  received  her  guest;  and  the  orders  to  one  of  the 
nuns  to  keep  a  watch  on  her  niece  were  oddly  mixed  with 
those  to  the  cook,  confectioner,  and  butterer. 

La  Mere  Marie  Seraphine  was  not  a  cruel  or  an  unkind 
woman.  She  had  been  very  fond  of  her  pretty  little  niece 
in  her  childhood,  but  had  deejjly  resented  the  arrangement 
which  had  removed  her  from  her  own  superintendence  to 
that  of  the  Englishwoman,  besides  the  uniting  to  the  young 
baron  one  whom  she  deemed  the  absolute  right  of  Narcisse. 
She  had  received  Eustacie  on  her  first  return  witii  great 
Joy,  and  had  always  treated  her  with  much  indulgence,  and 
when  the  drooping,  broken-hearted  girl  came  back  once 
more  to  the  shelter  of  her  convent,  the  good-humored  ab- 
bess only  wished  to  make  her  happy  again. 

But  Eustacie 's  misery  was  far  beyond  the  ken  of  her 
aunt,  and  the  jovial  turn  of  these  consolations  did  but 
deepen  her  agony.  To  be  congratulated  on  her  release  from 
the  heretic,  assured  of  future  happiness  with  her  cousin, 
and,  above  all,  to  hear  Berenger  abused  with  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  rival  family  and  rival  religion,  tore  up  the  lacerated 
spirit.  Ill,  dejected,  and  broken  down,  too  subdued  to  fire 
up  in  defense,  and  only  longing  for  the  power  of  indulging 
in  silent  grief,  Eustacie  had  shrunk  from  her,  and  wrapped 
herself  up  in  the  ceaseless  round  of  masses  and  prayers,  in 
which  she  was  allowed  to  jjerceive  a  glimmering  of  hope  for 
her  husband's  soul.  The  abbess,  ever  busy  with  afl'airs  of 
her  convent  or  matters  of  pleasure,  soon  relinquished  the 
vain  attempt  to  console  where  she  could  not  sympathize, 
trusted  that  the  fever  of  devotion  would  wear  itself  out. 


164  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

and  left  her  niece  to  herself.  Of  the  seven  nuns,  two  were 
decorously  gay,  like  their  mother  abbess;  one  was  a  pro- 
digious worker  of  tapestry,  two  were  unrivaled  save  by  one 
another  as  confectioners.  Eustacie  had  been  their  pet  in 
her  younger  days;  now  she  was  out  of  their  reach,  they 
tried  in  turn  to  comfort  her;  and  when  she  would  not  be 
comforted,  they,  too,  felt  aggrieved  by  the  presence  of  one 
whose  austerity  reproached  their  own  laxity;  they  resented 
her  disappointment  at  Soeur  Monique's  having  been  trans- 
ferred to  Lucon,  and  they,  too,  left  her  to  the  only  persons 
whose  presence  she  Inid  ever  seemed  to  relish — namely,  her 
maid  Veronique,  and  Veronique^s  mother,  her  old  nurse 
Perrine,  wife  of  a  farmer  about  two  miles  ofP.  The  woman 
had  been  Eustacie's  foster  mother,  and  continued  to  exert 
over  her  much  of  the  caressing  care  of  a  nurse. 

After  parting  with  her  aunt,  Eustacie  for  a  moment 
looked  toward  the  chapel,  then,  clasping  her  hands,  mur- 
mured to  herself,  "  No!  no!  speed  is  my  best  hope;"  and 
at  once  mounted  the  s  airs,  and  entered  a  room,  where  the 
large  stone  crucifix,  a  waxen  madonna,  and  the  holy  water 
font  gave  a  cell-like  asjiect  to  the  room;  and  a  straw  pallet 
covered  with  sackcloth  was  on  the  floor,  a  richly  curtained 
couch  driven  into  the  rear,  as  unused. 

She  knelt  for  a  moment  before  the  madonna,  "  Ave 
Maria,  be  with  me  and  mine.  0!  blessed  lady,  thou  hadst 
to  fly  with  thy  Holy  One  from  cruel  men.  Have  thou  pity 
on  the  fatherless!" 

Then  going  to  the  door,  she  clapped  her  hands;  and  as 
Veronique  entered,  she  bade  her  shut  and  bolt  the  door, 
and  at  the  same  moment  began  in  nervous  haste  to  throw 
off  her  veil  and  unfasten  her  dress. 

"  Make  haste,  Veronique.     A  dress  of  thine — " 

"All  is  known,  then!''  cried  Veronique,  throwing  up 
her  arms. 

"  No,  but  he  is  coming — Narcisse — to  marry  me  at  once 
— Mardi  Gras — " 

*'  Bt  qnoi  ?  Madame  has  but  to  speak  the  word,  and  it 
is  impossible. " 

"  And  after  what  my  aunt  has  said,  I  would  die  a  thou- 
sand deaths  ere  speaking  that  word.  I  asked  her,  Vero- 
nique! She  would  have  vengeance  on  the  most  guiltless — • 
the  most  guiltless — do  you  hear?  of  the  Norman  house. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  165 

Never,  never  shall  she  have  the  chance!  Come,  thy  striped 
petticoat!" 

"  But,  oh!  what  will  madame  do?  Where  wouhl  she  go? 
Oh!  it  is  impossible. *' 

"  First  to  thy  father's.  Yes,  I  know.  He  has  once 
called  it  a  madness  to  think  of  rallying  my  vassals  to  pro- 
tect their  lady.  That  was  when  he  heard  of  it  from  thee — 
thou  faint  of  heart — and  thy  mother,  I  shall  speak  to  him 
in  person  now.  Make  haste,  I  tell  thee,  girl.  I  must  be 
out  of  this  place  before  I  am  watched  or  guarded,"  she  ad- 
ded breathlessly.  "  I  feel  as  if  each  moment  I  lost  might 
have  death  upon  it;"  and  she  looked  about  her  like  a 
startled  deer. 

"  To  my  father's.  Ah !  there  it  is  not  so  ill !  But  the  twi- 
light, the  length  of  way,"  sobbed  Veronique,  in  grievous 
distress  and  perplexity.  "  Oh!  madame,  I  can  not  see  you 
go.  The  mother  abbess  is  good.  She  must  have  pity.  Oh, 
trust  to  her!" 

"  Trust!  Did  I  not  trust  to  my  cousin  Diane?  Never! 
Nothing  will  kill  me  but  remaining  in  their  hands. " 

Veronique  argued  and  implored  in  vain.  Ever  since,  in 
the  height  of  those  vehement  austerities  by  which  the  be- 
reaved and  shattered  sufferer  strove  to  ajjpease  her  wretched- 
ness by  the  utmost  endeavor  to  save  her  husband's  soul, 
the  old  foster-mother  had  made  known  to  her  that  she 
might  thus  sacrifice  another  than  herself,  Eustacie's  elastic 
heart  had  begun  to  revive,  with  all  its  dauntless  strength 
of  will.  What  to  her  women  seemed  only  a  fear,  was  to 
her  only  a  lioj)e. 

Frank  and  confiding  as  was  her  nature,  however,  the 
cruel  deceptions  already  practiced  on  her  by  her  own  kin- 
dred, together  with  the  harsh  words  with  which  the  abbess 
spoke  of  Berenger,  htid  made  her  aware  that  no  comfort 
must  be  looked  for  in  that  quarter.  It  was,  after  all,  per- 
haps her  own  instinct,  and  the  aunt's  want  of  sympathy, 
that  withheld  her  from  seeking  counsel  of  any  save  Perrine 
and  her  daughter,  at  any  rate  till  she  could  communicate 
with  the  kind  young  queen.  To  her,  then,  Eustacie  had 
written,  entreating  that  a  royal  mandate  would  recall  her 
in  time  to  bestow  herself  in  some  trustworthy  hands,  or 
even  in  her  husband's  own  Norman  castle,  where  his  heir 
would  be  both  safe  and  welcome.     But  time  had  passed — 


106  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

tlie  whole  sjiacc  that  she  had  reckoned  as  needful  for  the 
going  and  coming  of  her  messenger — allowing  for  all  the 
obstructions  of  winter  roads — nay,  he  had  come  back;  she 
knew  her  letter  was  delivered,  but  answer  there  was  none. 
It  might  yet  come — perhaps  a  royal  carriage  and  escort — 
and  day  after  day  had  she  waited  and  hoped,  only  tardily 
admitting  the  conviction  that  Elizabeth  of  Austria  was  as 
powerless  as  Eustacie  de  Ribaumont,  and  meantime  re- 
volving and  proposing  many  a  scheme  that  could  only  have 
entered  the  brain  of  a  brave-spirited  child  as  she  was.  To 
appeal  to  her  vassals,  garrison  with  them  a  ruinous  old 
tower  in  the  woods,  and  thence  send  far  aid  to  the  Mont- 
morencys;  to  ride  to  8aumur,  and  claim  the  protection  of 
the  governor  of  the  province;  to  make  her  way  to  the  coast 
and  sail  for  England;  to  start  for  Paris,  and  throw  herself 
in  jjerson  on  the  queen's  protection — all  had  occurred  to 
her,  and  been  discussed  with  her  two  confidantes  ;  but  the 
hope  of  the  queen's  interference,  together  with  the  exceed- 
ing difficulty  of  acting,  had  hitherto  prevented  her  from 
taking  any  steps,  since  no  suspicion  had  arisen  in  the 
minds  of  those  about  her.  Veronique,  caring  infinitely 
more  for  her  mistress's  health  and  well-being  than  for  the 
object  of  Eustacie's  anxieties,  had  always  secretly  trusted 
that  delay  would  last  till  action  was  impossible,  and  that 
the  discovery  would  be  made,  only  without  her  being  accused 
of  treason.  In  the  present  stress  of  danger,  she  could  but 
lament  and  entreat,  for  Eustacie's  resolution  bore  her 
down;  and  besides,  as  she  said  to  herself,  her  lady  was  after 
all  going  to  her  foster-father  and  mother,  who  would  make 
her  hear  reason,  and  bring  her  back  at  once,  and  then  there 
would  be  no  anger  nor  disgrace  incurred.  The  dark  muddy 
length  of  walk  would  be  the  worst  of  it — and,  bah!  most 
likely  madame  would  be  convinced  by  it,  and  return  of  her 
own  accord. 

So  Veronique,  though  not  intermitting  her  protests,  ad- 
justel  her  own  dress  upon  her  mistress — short  striped  petti- 
coat, black  bodice,  winged  turban-like  white  cap,  and  a 
great  muffling  gray  cloth  cloak  and  hood  over  the  head  and 
shoulders — the  costume  in  which  Veronique  was  wont  to 
run  to  her  home  in  the  twihght  on  various  errands,  chiefly 
to  carry  her  mistress's  linen;  for,  starching  Eustacie's 
pbiin  bands  and  cuffs,  was  Mere  Perrine's  sj^ecial  pride. 
The  wonted  bundle,  therefore,  now  contained  a  few  gar- 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  167 

ments,  and  the  money  and  jewels,  especially  the  chaplet  of 
pearls,  which  Eustacie  regarded  as  a  trust. 

Sobbing,  and  still  protesting,  Veronique,  however,  en- 
gaged that  if  her  lady  succeeded  in  safely  crossing  the 
kitchen  in  the  twilight,  and  in  leaving  the  convent,  she 
would  keep  the  secret  of  her  escape  as  long  as  possible,  re- 
porting her  refusal  to  a])pear  at  su2:)per,  and  making  such 
excuses  as  might  very  ^n'obably  jH'event  the  discovery  of 
her  flight  till  next  day. 

"  And  then,''  said  Eustacie,  "  I  will  send  for  thee,  either 
to  Saumur,  or  to  the  old  tower!  Adieu,  dear  Veronique, 
do  not  be  frigiitened.  Thou  dost  not  know  how  glad  I  am 
that  the  time  for  doing  something  is  come!     To-morrow!" 

"  To-morrow!"  thought  Veronique,  as  she  shut  the 
door;  "  before  that  you  will  be  back  here  again,  my  poor 
little  lady,  trembling,  weeping,  in  dire  need  of  being  com- 
forted. But  I  will  make  uj)  a  good  fire,  and  shake  out  tiie 
bed.  I'll  let  her  have  no  more  of  that  villainous  palliasse. 
No,  no,  let  her  try  her  own  way,  and  repent  of  it;  then, 
when  this  matter  is  over,  she  will  turn  her  mind  to  Cheva- 
lier NarcJsse,  and  there  will  be  no  more  languishing  in  this 
miserable  hole. " 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  HEARTHS  AND  THICKETS   OF  THE  BOCAQE. 

I  winna  spare  for  his  tender  age, 

Nor  yet  for  his  hie  kin; 
But  soon  as  ever  lie  born  is, 

He  shall  mount  the  gallows'  pin. 

Fause  Fooclrage. 

Dusk  was  closing  in,  but  lamps  had  not  yet  been  lighted, 
when  with  a  trembling,  yet  almost  a  bounding  heart,  Eus- 
tacie stole  down  the  stone  staircase,  leading  to  a  back-door 
— an  utterl}'-  uncanonical  appendage  to  a  nunnery,  but  one 
mucli  used  among  the  domestic  establishment  of  Bellaise. 

A  gleam  of  red  light  spread  across  the  passage  from  the 
half-open  kitchen  door,  whence  issued  the  savory  steam  of 
the  supper  preparing  for  monseigneur.  Eustacie  had  just 
cautiously  traversed  it,  when  the  voice  of  the  presiding  lay- 
sister  called  out,  "  Veronique,  is  that  you?" 

"  Sister!"  returned  Eustacie,  with  as  much  of  the  An- 
gevin twang  as  she  could  assume, 


1G8  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

**  Where  are  you  going?" 

"  To  the  Orchard  Farm  with  this  hnen." 

"  Ah!  it  must  be.  But  there  are  strict  orders  come  from 
madame  about  nobody  going  out  unrejiorted,  and  you  may 
chance  to  hnd  the  door  locked  if  you  do  not  come  back  in 
good  time.  Oh!  and  I  hiid  well-nigh  forgot;  tell  your 
mother  to  he  here  early  to-morrow,  madame  would  speak 
with  her.'' 

Eustacie  assented,  half  stifled  by  the  great  throb  of  her 
fluttering  heart  at  the  sense  tluit  she  had  indeed  seized  the 
last  moment.  Forth  then  she  stepped.  How  dark,  waste, 
and  lonely  the  ojDcn  field  looked!  But  her  heart  did  not 
fail  her;  she  could  only  feel  that  a  captivity  was  over  and 
the  most  vague  and  terrible  of  her  anxieties  soothed,  as  she 
made  her  way  into  one  of  the  long  shady  lanes  of  the  Bo- 
cage.  It  was  nearly  dark,  and  very  mudd}^,  but  she  had  all 
the  familiarity  of  a  native  with  the  way,  and  the  farm, 
where  she  had  trotted  about  in  her  infancy  like  a  peasant's 
cliild,  always  seemed  like  home  to  her.  It  had  been  a 
prime  treat  to  visit  it  during  her  time  of  education  at  the 
convent,  and  there  was  an  association  of  pleasure  in  treading 
the  path  that  seemed  to  bear  her  up,  and  give  her  enjoy- 
ment in  the  mere  adventure  and  feeling  of  escape  and  lib- 
erty. She  had  no  fear  of  the  dark,  nor  of  the  distant  bark- 
ing of  dogs,  but  the  mire  was  deep,  and  it  was  plodding 
work  in  those  heavy  sahots,  ujd  the  lane  that  led  from  the 
convent;  and  the  poor  child  was  sorely  weary  long  before 
she  came  to  the  toj)  of  the  low  hill  that  she  used  scarcely  to 
know  to  be  rising  ground  at  all.  The  stars  had  come  out; 
and  as  she  sat  for  a  few  moments  to  rest  on  a  large  stone, 
she  saw  the  lights  of  the  cottage  fires  in  the  village  below, 
and  looking  round  could  also  see  the  many  gleams  in  the 
convent  windows,  the  red  firelight  in  her  own  room  among 
them.  She  shivered  a  little  as  she  thought  of  its  glowing 
comfort,  but  turned  her  back  resolutely,  tightened  her 
cloak  over  her  head,  looked  up  to  a  glimmer  in  the  watch- 
tower  of  her  own  castle  far  above  her  on  the  hill  and  closed 
against  her;  and  then  smiled  to  herself  with  hoj^e  at  the 
S2iarkle  of  a  window  in  a  lonely  farm-house  among  the  fields. 

With  fresh  vigor  she  rose,  and  found  her  way  through 
lane  and  field-path  to  the  paddock  where  she  had  so  often 
played.  Here  a  couple  of  huge  dogs  dashed  forward  with 
an  explosion  of  barks,  dying  away  into  low  growls  as  she 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  169 

spoke  to  them  by  tlioir  names,  and  called  aloud  on  "  Blaise!" 
and  "  Mere  Perrine!"  The  cottage  door  was  opened,  the 
light  streamed  forth,  and  a  man's  head  in  a  broad  hat  ap- 
peared. "  Veronique,  girl,  is  this  an  hour  to  be  gadding 
abroad?'^ 

"  Blaise,  do  you  not  know  me?'* 

"  It  is  our  lady.     Ah!" 

The  next  moment  the  wanderer  was  seated  in  the  ample 
wooden  chair  of  the  head  of  the  family,  the  farmer  and  his 
two  stout  sous  standing  before  her  as  their  liege  lady,  and 
Mere  Perrine  hanging  over  her,  in  great  anxiety,  not  wholly 
dispelled  by  ber  low  girlish  laugh,  partly  of  exultation  at 
her  successful  evasion,  partly  of  amusement  at  their  won- 
der, and  partl}^  too,  because  it  was  so  natural  to  her  to  en- 
joy herself  at  that  hearth  that  she  could  not  help  it.  A 
savory  mess  from  the  great  caldron  that  was  forever  stew- 
ing over  the  fire  was  at  once  fished  out  for  her,  before  she 
was  allowed  to  explain  herself;  and  as  she  eat  with  the 
carved  spoon  and  from  the  earthenware  crock  that  had 
been  called  mademoiselle's  ever  since  her  baby-days,  Per- 
rine chafed  and  warmed  her  feet,  fondled  her,  and  assured 
her,  as  if  she  were  still  their  spoiled  child,  that  they  would 
do  all  she  wished. 

Pierre  and  Tiennot,  the  two  sons,  were  sent  out  to  fodder 
the  cattle,  and  keep  careful  watch  for  any  sounds  of  pur- 
suers from  tlie  convent;  and  Blaise,  in  the  plenitude  of  his 
respect  and  deference,  would  have  followed  them,  but 
Eustacie  desired  him  to  remaiu  to  give  her  counsel. 

Her  first  inquiry  was  after  the  watch-tower.  She  did 
not  care  for  any  discomfort  if  her  vassals  would  be  faith- 
ful, and  hold  it  out  for  her,  till  she  could  send  for  help  to 
the  allies  of  her  husband's  house,  and  her  eyes  glistened  as 
she  spoke. 

But  Blaise  shook  his  head.  He  had  looked  at  the  tower 
as  madame  bade,  but  it  was  all  in  ruins,  crumbling  away, 
and,  moreover,  M.  le  Chevalier  had  put  a  forester  there— 
a  grim,  bad  subject,  who  had  been  in  the  Italian  wars,  and 
cared  neither  for  saint  nor  devil,  except  Chevalier  Narcisse. 
Indeed,  even  if  he  had  not  been  there,  the  place  was  un- 
tenable, it  would  only  be  getting  into  a  trap. 

"  Count  Hubert  held  it  out  for  twelve  days  against  the 
English!"  said  Eustacie,  proudly. 

"Ah!  ah!    but  there  were  none  of  your  falconets,  or 


170  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS. 

what  call  you  those  cannons  then.  ISTo;  if  madamo  would 
present  herself  as  a  choice  morsel  for  Monsieur  le  Chevalier 
to  snap  up,  that  is  the  place." 

Then  came  the  other  plan  of  getting  an  escort  of  the 
peasants  together,  and  riding  with  tiiem  toward  the 
Huguenot  territories  around  La  Fochelle,  where,  for  her 
husband's  sake,  Eustacie  could  hardly  fail  to  obtain  friends. 
It  was  the  more  practical  ex2)edient,  but  Blaise  groaned 
over  it,  wondered  how  many  of  the  farmers  could  be  trusted, 
or  brought  together,  and  finally  exjjressed  his  intention  of 
going  to  consult  Martin,  his  stanch  friend,  at  the  next 
farm.  Meantime,  madame  had  better  lie  down  and  sleep. 
And  madame  did  sleep,  in  Perrine's  huge  box-bedstead, 
with  a  sweet,  calm,  childlike  slumber,  whilst  her  nurse  sat 
watching  her  with  eyes  full  of  tears  of  pity  and  distress;  the 
poor  young  thing's  buoyant  hopefulness  and  absence  of  all 
fear  seemed  to  the  old  woman  especially  sad,  and  like  a 
sort  of  want  of  comprehension  of  the  full  peril  in  which  she 
stood. 

Not  till  near  dawn  was  Eustacie  startled  from  her  rest 
by  approaching  steps.  "  Nurse,  is  all  ready?"  she  cried. 
"  Can  we  set  otf  ?     Are  the  horses  there?" 

"  No,  my  child;  it  is  but  my  good  man  and  Martin  who 
would  speak  with  you.  Do  not  hasten.  There  is  nothing 
amiss  as  yet.'' 

"  Oh,  nurse,"  cried  Eustacie,  as  she  quickly  arranged 
the  dress  in  which  she  had  lain  down,  "  the  dear  old  farm 
always  makes  me  sleep  well.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have 
had  no  dream  of  the  wliirling  wheel  and  fiery  gates!  Oh, 
is  it  a  token  that  he  is  indeed  at  rest?  I  am  so  well,  so 
strong.  I  can  ride  anywhere  now.  Let  them  come  in  and 
tell  me." 

Martin  was  a  younger,  brisker,  cleverer  man  than  Blaise, 
and  besides,  being  a  vassal  of  the  young  lady,  was  a  sort  of 
agent  to  whom  the  abbess  intrusted  many  of  the  matters  of 
husbandry  regarding  the  convent  lands.  He  stood,  like 
Blaise,  bare-headed  as  he  talked  to  the  little  lady,  and  heard 
her  somewhat  peremptorily  demand  why  they  had  not 
brought  the  horses  and  men  for  her  escort. 

It  was  impossible  that  night,  explained  Martin.  Time 
was  needed  to  bring  in  the  farm-horses,  and  summon  the 
other  peasants,  without  whom  the  roatls  were  unsafe  in 
these  times  of  disorder.     He  and  Blaise  must  go  round  and 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  171 

warn  them  to  be  ready.  A  man  could  not  be  ready  in  a 
wink  of  the  eye,  as  niadame  seemed  to  think,  and  the  two 
peasants  looked  impenetrable  in  stolidity, 

"  Laggards  that  you  are!"  cried  Eustacie  petulantly, 
clasping  her  hands;  "  and  meantime  all  will  be  lost.  They 
will  be  upon  me!^^ 

"  Not  so,  madame.  It  is  therefore  that  I  came  here,'' 
said  Martin,  deferentially,  to  the  little  fuming  impatient 
creature;  "  madame  will  be  far  safer  close  at  hand  while 
the  j)ursuit  and  search  are  going  on.  But  she  must  not 
stay  iiere.  This  farm  is  the  first  place  they  will  come  to, 
while  they  will  never  suspect  mine,  and  my  good  woman 
Lucette  will  be  proud  to  keep  watch  for  her.  Madame 
knows  that  the  jjlace  is  full  of  shrubs  and  thickets,  where 
one  half  of  an  army  might  spend  a  fine  day  in  looking  for 
the  other. ' ' 

"  And  at  night  you  will  get  together  the  men  and  convoy 
me?"  asked  Eustacie,  eagerly. 

"  All  in  good  time,  madame.  Now  she  must  be  off,  ere 
the  holy  mothers  be  astir.  I  have  brought  an  ass  for  her 
to  ride." 

Eustacie  had  no  choice  but  compliance.  None  of  the 
Orchard  family  could  go  with  her,  as  it  was  needful  that 
they  should  stay  at  home  and  appear  as  unconcerned  as 
possible;  but  they  promised  to  meet  her  at  the  hour  and 
j^lace  to  be  appointed,  and  if  possible  to  bring  Veronique. 

Eating  a  piece  of  rye  bread  as  she  went,  Eustacie,  in  her 
gray  cloak,  rode  under  Martin's  guardianship  along  the  deep 
lanes,  just  budding  with  spring,  in  the  chill  dewiness  before 
sunrise.  She  was  silent,  and  just  a  little  sullen,  for  she  had 
found  stout  shrewd  Martin  less  easy  to  talk  over  than  the 
admiring  Blaise,  and  her  spirit  was  excessively  chafed  by 
the  tardiness  of  her  retainers.  But  the  sun  rose  and  cleared 
away  all  clouds  of  temper,  the  cocks  crew,  the  sheep  bleated, 
and  fresh  morning  sounds  met  her  ear,  and  seemed  to  cheer 
and  fill  her  with  hojie;  and  in  some  compunction  for  her 
want  of  graciousness,  she  thanked  Martin,  and  praised  his 
ass  with  a  pretty  cordiality  that  would  have  fully  compen- 
sated for  her  displeasure,  even  if  the  honest  man  had  been 
sensible  of  it. 

«He  halted  under  the  lee  of  a  barn,  and  gave  alow  whistle. 
At  the  sound,  Lucette,  a  brown,  sturdy  young  woman  with 
a  red  handkerchief  over  her  head,  and  another  over  her 


172  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

shoulders,  came  running  round  the  corner  of  the  barn,  and 
whispered  eagerly  under  her  breath,  "  Ah!  madanie,  ma- 
dame,  what  an  honor!"  kissing  Eustacie's  hand  with  all 
her  might  as  she  spoke;  "but,  alas!  I  fear  madame  can 
not  come  into  the  house.  The  questing  Brother  Francois 
— plague  upon  him! — has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  drop  in 
to  breakfast.  I  longed  to  give  him  the  cold  shoulder,  but 
it  might  have  brought  suspicion  down." 

"Eight,  good  woman,"  said  Martin;  "but  what  shall 
madame  do?  It  is  broad  day,  and  no  longer  safe  to  run  the 
lanes!'; 

"  Give  me  a  distaff,"  said  Eustacie,  rising  to  the  occa- 
sion, "  I  will  go  to  that  bushy  field,  and  herd  the  cows." 

Madame  was  right,  the  husband  and  wife  unwillingly 
agreed.  There,  in  her  peasant  dress,  in  the  remote  field, 
sloping  up  into  a  thick  wood,  she  was  unlikely  to  attract 
attention;  and  though  the  field  was  bordered  on  one  side  by 
the  lane  leading  to  the  road  to  Paris,  it  was  sej^arated  from 
it  by  a  steep  bank,  crowned  by  one  of  the  thick  hedge-rows 
characteristic  of  the  Bocage, 

Here,  then,  they  were  forced  to  leftve  her,  seated  on  a 
stone  beneath  a  thorn-bush,  distaff  in  hand,  with  bread, 
cheese  and  a  pitcher  of  milk  for  her  provisions,  and  three  or 
four  cows  grazing  before  her.  From  the  higher  ground 
below  the  wood  of  ash  and  hazel,  she  could  see  the  undulat- 
ing fields  and  orchards,  a  few  houses,  and  that  iuliosf)itable 
castle  of  her  own. 

She  had  spent  many  a  drearier  day  in  the  convent  than 
this,  in  the  free  sun  and  air,  with  the  feeling  of  liberty,  and 
unbounded  hopes  founded  on  this  first  success.  She  told 
her  beads  diligently,  trusting  that  the  tale  of  devotions  for 
her  husband's  spirit  would  be  equally  made  up  in  the  field 
as  in  the  church,  and  intently  all  day  were  her  ears  and  eyes 
on  the  alert.  Once  Lucette  visited  her,  to  bring  her  a  basin 
of  porridge,  and  to  tell  her  that  all  the  world  at  the  convent 
was  in  confusion,  that  messengers  had  been  sent  out  in  all 
directions,  and  that  M.  le  Chevalier  had  ridden  out  himself 
in  pursuit;  but  they  should  soon  hear  all  about  it,  for  Mar- 
tin was  jjretending  to  be  amongst  the  busiest,  and  he  would 
know  how  to  turn  them  away.  Again,  much  later  in  the 
day,  Martin  came  striding  across  the  field,  and  had  just  ' 
reached  her,  as  she  sat  in  the  hedge-row,  when  the  great 
dog  who  followed  him  pricked  his  ears,  and  a  tramping  and 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  173 

jingling  was  audible  in  the  distance  in  the  lane.     Eustacie 
hi'M  up  her  finger,  her  eyes  dilating. 

"  It  must  be  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  returning.  Madame 
must  wait  a  little  longer.  I  must  be  at  home,  or  they  may 
send  out  to  seek  me  here,  and  that  would  be  ruin.  I  will 
return  as  soon  as  it  is  safe,  if  madame  will  hide  herself  in 
the  hedge-row. " 

Into  the  hedge-row  accordingly  crept  Eustacie,  cowering 
close  to  a  holly-tree  at  the  very  summit  of  the  bank,  and 
led  by  a  strange  fascination  to  choose  a  spot  where,  unseen 
herself,  she  could  gaze  down  on  the  jjarty  who  came  clank- 
ing along  the  hollow  road  beneath.  Nearer,  nearer  they 
came;  and  she  shuddered,  with  more  of  passion  than  of 
fear,  as  she  beheld,  not  only  her  uncle  in  his  best  well-pre- 
served green  suit,  but  Narcisse,  muddy  with  riding,  though 
in  his  court  braveries.  Suddenly  they  came  to  a  halt  close 
beneath  her!  Was  she  detected?  Ah!  just  below  was  the 
spot  where  the  road  to  the  convent  parted  from  the  road 
to  the  farm;  and,  as  Martin  had  aj)prehended,  they  were 
stopping  for  him.  The  chevalier  ordered  one  of  the  armed 
men  behind  him  to  ride  up  to  the  farm  and  summon  Martin 
to  speak  with  him;  and  then  he  and  his  son,  while  waiting 
under  the  holly-bush,  continued  their  conversation. 

"  So  that  is  the  state  of  things!  A  fine  overthrow!" 
quoth  Narcisse. 

"  Bah!  not  at  all.  She  will  soon  be  in  our  hands  again. 
I  have  spoken  with,  or  written  to,  every  governor  of  the 
cities  she  must  pass  through,  and  not  one  will  abet  the  little 
runaway.     At  the  first  barrier  she  is  ours.  ■'^ 

"  Et  pnisf" 

"  Oh,  we  shall  have  her  mild  as  a  sheep.'*  (Eustacie 
sot  her  teeth.)  ""  Every  one  will  be  in  the  same  story,  that 
her  marriage  was  a  nullity;  she  can  not  choose  but  believe, 
and  can  only  be  thankful  that  we  overlook  the  escapade 
aad  rehabilitate  her. " 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  uncle,"  almost  uttered  his  unseen 
auditor. 

"  Well!  There  is  too  much  land  down  here  to  throw 
away;  but  the  affair  has  become  horribly  complicated  and 
distasteful." 

"  No  such  thing.  All  the  easier.  She  can  no  longer 
play  the  s2:)otless  saint — get  weak-minded  priests  on  her  side 
— be  all  for  strict  convents.     No,  no;  her  time  for  that  is 


174  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

past!  Shut  her  up  with  trustvrorthy  jiersons  from  whom 
she  will  hear  uothing  from  without,  and  she  will  understand 
her  case.  The  child?  It  will  scarce  be  born  alive,  or  at 
any  rate  she  need  not  know  whether  it  is.  Then,  with  no 
resource,  no  hope,  what  can  she  do  but  be  too  thankful  for 
pardon,  and  as  glad  to  conceal  the  past  as  we  could  wish?" 

Eustacie  clinched  her  fist.  Had  a  pistol  been  within  her 
reach,  the  speaker's  tenure  of  life  had  been  sliort!  She 
was  no  chastened,  self -restrained,  forgiving  saint,  the  poor 
little  thing,  only  a  hot-tempered,  generous,  keenly  sensitive 
being,  well-nigh  a  child  in  years  and  in  impulses,  though 
with  the  instmcts  of  a  mother  awakening  within  her,  and 
of  a  mother  who  heard  the  life  of  her  unborn  babe  plotted 
against.  She  was  absolutely  forced  to  hold  her  lips  to- 
gether, to  repress  the  sobbing  scream  of  fury  that  came  to 
her  throat;  and  the  struggles  with  her  gasping  breath,  the 
surging  of  the  blood  in  her  ears,  hindered  her  from  hearing 
or  seeing  anything  for  some  seconds,  though  she  kept  her 
station.  By  the  time  her  perceptions  had  cleared  them- 
selves, Martin,  cap  in  hand,  was  in  the  lane  below,  listen- 
ing deferentially  to  the  two  gentlemen,  who  were  assuring 
him  that  inquiry  had  been  made,  and  a  guard  carefully  set 
at  the  barriers  of  all  the  cities  round,  and  that  it  was  im- 
possible that  the  fugitive  could  have  passed  those,  or  be  able 
to  do  so.  She  must  certtiinly  be  hidden  somewhere  near 
home,  and  Martin  had  better  warn  all  his  friends  against 
hiding  her,  unless  they  wished  to  be  hung  up  on  the  thresh- 
olds of  their  burning  farmsteads.  Martin  bowed,  and 
thought  the  fellows  would  know  their  own  interest  and 
mademoiselle's  better. 

"^  Well,"  said  the  chevalier,  "we  must  begin  without 
loss  of  time.  My  son  has  brought  down  a  set  of  fellows 
here,  who  are  trained  to  ferret  out  heretics.  Not  a  runa- 
way weasel  could  escape  them!  We  will  set  them  on  as 
soon  as  ever  they  have  taken  a  bit  of  supper  up  there  at  the 
chateau;  and  do  you  come  up  with  us  just  to  show  them 
the  way  across  to  Leonard's.  That's  no  unlikely  place  for 
her  to  Im-k  in,  as  you  said  this  morning,  good  fellow." 

It  was  the  most  remote  farm  from  that  of  Martin,  and 
Eustacie  felt  how  great  were  his  services,  even  while  she 
flushed  with  anger  to  hear  him  speaking  of  her  as  made- 
moiselle. He  was  promising  to  follow  immediately  to  the 
castle,  to  meet  ces  Messieurs  there  almost  as  soon  as  they 


THE    OHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  175 

ooiiM  arrive,  but  excusing  himself  from  accompanying 
them,  by  tlie  need  of  driving  home  the  big  bull^  whom  no 
one  else  could  manage. 

They  consented,  and  rode  on.  Martin  watched  them  out 
of  sight,  then  sprung  up  by  some  stejiping-stones  in  the 
bank,  a  little  below  where  Eustacie  sat,  and  came  crackling- 
through  the  boughs  to  where  she  was  crouching  down,  with 
fierce  glittering  eyes  and  panting  breath,  like  a  wild  animal 
ready  to  spring. 

"  Madame  has  heard, '^  said  Martin  under  his  breath. 

"  If  I  have  heard!  Oh  that  I  were  a  man,  to  slay  them 
where  they  stood!  Martin,  Martin!  you  will  not  betray 
me.     Some  day  we  will  reward  you.  ^' 

"  Madame  need  not  have  said  fhat  to  me,"  said  Martin, 
rather  hurt.  "  I  am  only  thinking  what  she  can  do.  Alas! 
I  fear  that  she  must  remain  in  this  covert  till  it  is  dark,  for 
these  men's  eyes  are  all  on  the  alert.  At  dark,  I  or  Lucette 
will  come  and  find  a  shelter  for  her  for  the  night.'' 

Long,  long,  then,  did  Eustacie  sit,  muffled  in  her  gray 
cloak,  shrinking  together  to  shelter  herself  from  the  sunset 
chill  of  early  spring,  but  shuddering  more  with  horror  than 
with  cold,  as  the  cruel  cold-blooded  words  she  had  heard 
recurred  to  her,  and  feeling  as  if  she  were  fast  within  a  net, 
every  outlet  guarded  against  her,  and  search  everywhere; 
yet  still  with  the  indomitable  determination  to  dare  and 
suffer  to  the  utmost  ere  that  which  was  dearer  than  her  own 
life  should  come  into  peril  from  her  enemies. 

The  twilight  closed  in,  \he  stars  came  out,  sounds  of  life 
died  away,  and  still  she  sat  on,  becoming  almost  torpid  in 
the  cold  darkness,  until  at  length  she  heard  the  low  call  of 
hucatte,  "Mada7)ie!  Ah!  la  pauvre  Madame."  She  started 
up,  so  stiff  that  she  could  hardly  move,  and  only  guided  by 
the  voice  to  feel  her  way  through  the  hedge-row  in  the  right 
direction.  Another  moment,  and  Lucette 's  warm  arms  had 
received  her;  and  she  was  guided,  scarce  knowing  how  or 
where,  in  cautious  silence  to  the  farm-yard,  and  into  the 
house,  where  a  most  welcome  sight,  a  huge  fire,  blazed 
cheerfully  on  the  hearth,  and  Martin  himself  held  open 
the  door  for  her.  The  other  occupants  of  the  kitchen  were 
the  sleeping  child  in  its  wooden  cradle,  some  cocks  and  hens 
u23on  the  rafters,  and  a  big  sheep-dog  before  the  fire. 

The  warmth,  and  the  chicken  that  Lucette  had  killed  and 
dressedj  brought  the  color  back  to  the  exhausted  wanderer's 


176  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

cheek,  and  enabled  her  again  to  hold  council  for  her 
safety.  It  was  plain,  as  Martin  had  found  in  conversation 
with  the  men-at-arms,  that  in-ecantions  had  been  taken 
against  her  escapiiig  in  any  of  the  directions  ivhere  she 
might  ho23e  to  have  reached  friends.  Alone  she  conld  not 
go,  and  any  escort  sufficient  to  protect  her  would  assuredly 
be  stopped  at  the  first  town;  besides  which,  collecting  it 
ill  secret  was  impossible  under  present  circumstances,  and 
it  would  be  sure  to  be  at  once  overtaken  and  demolished  by 
the  Chevalier  Narcisse's  well-armed  followers.  Martin, 
therefore,  saw  no  alternative  but  for  her  to  lurk  about  in 
such  hiding-places  as  her  faithful  vassals  could  afford  her, 
until  the  search  should  blow  over,  and  the  vigilance  of  her 
uncle  and  cousin  relax.  Hojie,  the  high-spirited  hope  of 
early  youth,  looked  beyond  to  indefinite  but  infinite  possi- 
bility. Anything  was  better  than  the  shame  and  horror  of 
yielding,  and  Eustacie  trusted  herself  with  all  her  heart  for 
the  present,  fancying,  she  knew  not  what,  the  future. 

Indeed,  the  Vendean  fidelity  has  often  been  tested,  and 
she  made  full  proof  of  it  among  the  lanes,  copses,  and  home- 
steads of  her  own  broad  lands.  The  whole  country  was  a 
net-work  of  deep  lanes,  sunk  between  imj^enetrable  hedge- 
rows, inclosing  small  fields,  orchards,  and  thickets,  and 
gently  undulating  in  low  hills  and  shallow  valleys,  inter- 
spersed with  tali  wasp-waisted  windmills  airily  waving  their 
arms  on  the  to])  of  lofty  masts.  It  was  jjartitioned  into 
small  farms,  inhabited  by  a  simple-hearted  jDeasantry, 
religious  and  diligent,  with  a  fair  amount  of  rural  wealth 
and  comfort.  Their  love  for  their  lords  was  loyally  warm, 
and  Eustacie  monojiolized  it,  from  their  detestation  of  her 
uncle's  exactions;  they  would  risk  any  of  the  savage  punish- 
ments with  which  they  were  threatened  for  concealing  her; 
and  as  one  by  one  it  was  needful  to  take  them  into  the 
secret,  so  as  to  disarm  suspicion,  and  she  was  passed  from 
one  farm  to  another,  each  jDroved  his  faithful  attachment, 
and  thought  himself  repaid  by  her  thankful  smile  and  con- 
fiding manner. 

The  chevalier  and  his  son  searched  vigorously.  On  the 
slightest  suspicion,  they  came  down  to  the  farm,  closed  up 
the  outlets,  threatened  the  owners,  turned  out  the  house, 
and  the  very  place  they  had  last  searched  would  become 
her  quarters  on  the  next  night!  Messages  always  had 
warned  her  in  time.     Intelligence  was  obtained  by  Martin, 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  177 

who  contrived  to  remain  a  confidential  agent,  and  warnings 
were  dispatched  to  her  by  many  a  strange  messenger — by 
little  children,  by  old  women,  or  even  by  the  village  inno- 
cent. 

The  most  alarming  days  were  those  when  she  was  not 
the  avowed  object  of  the  chase,  but  when  the  pursuit  of 
game  rendered  the  coverts  in  the  woods  and  fields  unsafe, 
and  the  hounds  might  lead  to  her  discovery.  On  one  of 
these  occasions  Martin  locked  her  up  in  the  great  hay-loft  of 
the  convent,  where  she  coidd  actually  hear  the  chants  in  the 
chapel,  and  distinguish  the  chatter  of  the  lay-sisters  in  the 
yard.  Another  time,  in  conjunction  with  the  sacristan,  he 
bestowed  her  in  the  great  seigneurial  tribune  (or  squire's 
pew)  in  the  village  church,  a  tall  carved  box,  where  she  was 
completely  hidden;  and  the  only  time  when  she  had  failed 
to  obtain  warning  beforehand,  she  stood  kneading  bread  at 
a  tub  in  Martin's  cottage,  while  the  hunt  passed  by,  and  a 
man-at-arms  looked  in  and  questioned  the  master  on  the 
last  traces  of  the  runaway. 

It  was  seldom  possible  to  see  Mere  Perrine,  who  was  care- 
fully watched,  under  the  conviction  that  she  must  know 
where  her  nursling  was;  but  one  evening  Veronique  vent- 
ured up  to  Martin's  farm,  trusting  to  tidings  that  the  gen- 
tlemen had  ridden  to  Saumur.  It  had  been  a  wet  day,  but 
the  woods  had  been  Eustacie's  only  secure  harbor;  and 
when,  in  a  bright  evening  gleam  of  the  setting  sun  from 
beneath  the  clouds,  Veronique  came  in  sight  of  her  lady, 
the  queen's  favorite,  it  was  to  see  her  leading  by  a  string  a 
little  shaggy  cow,  with  a  bell  round  its  neck,  her  gray  cloak 
huddled  round  her,  though  dank  with  wet,  a  long  lock  of 
black  hair  streaming  over  her  brow,  her  garments  clinging 
with  damp,  her  bare  ankles  scratched  with  thorns,  her  heavy 
sabots  covered  with  mire,  her  cheeks  pale  with  cold  and 
wet. 

The  contrast  overwhelmed  poor  Veronique.  She  dropped 
on  her  knees,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and  de- 
claring that  this  was  what  the  abbess  had  feared ;  her  lady 
was  fast  killing  herself. 

"  Hush,  Veronique,"  said  Eustacie;  "  that  is  all  folly.  I 
am  wet  and  weary  now,  but  oh!  if  you  knew  how  much 
sweeter  to  me  life  is  now  than  it  was,  shut  up  down  there, 
with  my  fears.  See,"  and  she  held  up  a  bunch  of  jiurjilo 
pasque-flowers  and  wood-sorrel,  "this  is  what  I  found  in 


178  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

the  wood,  growing  out  of  a  rugged  old  dead  root;  and  just 
by,  sheltered  by  the  threefold  leaves  of  the  alleluia-flower, 
was  a  bird's  nest,  the  mother-bird  on  her  eggs,  watching 
me  with  the  wise  black  eye  that  saw  I  would  not  hurt  her. 
And  it  brought  back  the  words  I  had  heard  long  ago,  of 
the  good  God  caring  for  the  sparrows;  and  I  knew  He  would 
care  the  more  for  me  and  mine,  because  I  have  not  where 
to  lay  my  head. ' ' 

"  Alas!"  sobbed  Veronique,  "  now  she  is  getting  to  be  a 
saint  outright.  She  will  be  sure  to  die!  Ah,  madame — 
dear  madame!  do  but  listen  to  me.  If  you  did  but  know 
how  Madame  de  Bellaise  is  afflicting  herself  on  your  ac- 
count!   She  sent  for  me — ah!  do  not  be  angry,  dear  lady!'' 

"  I  wish  to  hear  nothing  about  her,"  said  Eustacie. 

*'  Nay,  listen,  de  grace — one  moment,  madame!  She  has 
wept,  she  has  feared  you,  all  the  lay-sisters  say  so.  She 
takes  no  pleasure  in  hawking,  nor  in  visiting;  and  she  did 
not  eat  more  than  six  of  Soeur  Bernardine's  best  conserves. 
She  does  nothing  but  watch  for  tidings  of  madame.  And 
she  sent  for  me,  as  I  told  you,  and  conjured  me,  if  I  knew 
where  you  were  or  had  any  means  of  finding  out,  to  implore 
you  to  trust  to  her.  She  will  swear  on  all  the  relics  in  the 
chapel  never  to  give  a  hint  to  Messieurs  les  Chevaliers  if 
only  you  would  trust  her,  and  not  slay  yourself  with  all 
this  dreadful  wandering." 

*'  Never!"  said  Eustacie;  "  she  said  too  much!" 

"Ah!  but  she  declares  that,  had  she  known  the  truth, 
she  never  would  have  said  that.  Ah,  yes,  madame,  the 
abbess  is  good!"  And  Veronique,  holding  her  mistress's 
cloak  to  secure  a  hearing,  detailed  the  abbess's  plan  for 
lodging  her  niece  in  secret  ajiartments  within  the  thickness 
of  the  convent  walls,  where  Mere  Perrine  could  be  with 
her,  and  every  sacred  pledge  should  be  given  that  could  re- 
move her  fears. 

"And  coidd  they  make  me  believe  them,  so  that  the 
doubt  and  dread  would  not  kill  me  in  themselves?"  said 
Eustacie. 

"  But  it  is  death — certain  death,  as  it  is.  Oh,  if  madame 
would  hear  reason! — but  she  is  headstrong!  She  will  grieve 
when  it  is  too  late!" 

"  Listen,  Veronique.  I  have  a  far  better  plan.  The 
sacristan  has  a  sister  who  weaves  red  handkerchiefs  at 
Chollet.     She  will  receive  me,  and  keep  me  as  long  as  tliere 


THE    CnAPLET    OF    TEA  ELS.  179 

is  need.  Martin  is  to  take  me  in  his  cart  when  he  carries 
the  hay  to  the  garrison.  I  shall  be  well  hidden^  and  within 
reach  of  your  mother.  And  theii,  when  my  son  is  once 
come — then  all  will  be  well!  The  peasants  will  rise  in  be- 
half of  their  young  lord,  though  not  for  a  poor  helpless 
woman.  No  one  will  dare  to  dispute  his  claim,  when  I 
have  appealed  to  the  king;  and  then,  Veronique,  you  shall 
come  back  to  me,  and  all  will  be  well!" 

Veronique  only  began  to  wail  aloud  at  her  mistresses  ob- 
stinacy. Martin  came  up,  and  rudely  silenced  her,  and 
said  afterward  to  his  wife,  "  Have  a  care!  That  girl  has — 
I  verily  believe — betrayed  her  lady  once;  and  if  she  do  not 
do  so  again,  from  pure  pity  and  faintness  of  heart,  I  shall 
be  much  surprised/' 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   GHOSTS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS. 

'Tis  said,  as  through  the  aisles  they  passed, 
They  heard  strange  voices  on  tlie  blast, 
And  through  the  cloister  galleries  small, 
Which  at  mid-height  thread  the  chancel  wall, 
Loud  sobs  and  laughter  louder  ran. 
And  voices  unlike  the  voice  of  man, 
As  if  the  fiends  kept  holiday. 

Scott,  Lay  of  the  Last  Mimtrel. 

"Ill  news,  Martin,  I  see  by  your  look!^'  cried  Eu- 
stacie,  starting  to  her  feet  from  the  heap  of  straw  on  which 
she  was  sitting  in  his  cow-house,  one  early  April  day,  about 
seven  weeks  since  her  evasion  from  the  convent. 

"  Not  so,  I  hope,  madame,  but  I  do  not  feel  at  ease. 
Monsieur  has  not  sent  for  me,  nor  told  me  his  plans  for 
the  morrow,  and  I  much  doubt  me  whether  that  bode  not  a 
search  here.  Now  I  see  a  plan,  provided  madame  would 
trust  herself  to  a  Huguenof 

"  They  would  guard  me  for  my  husband's  sake.'' 

"  And  could  madame  walk  half  a  league,  as  far  as  the 
Grange  du  Temple?  There  live  Matthieu  Eotrou  and  his 
wife,  who  have,  they  say,  baffled  a  hundred  times  the  gen- 
darmes who  sought  their  ministers.  No  one  ever  found 
a  pastor,  the}'  say,  when  Eotrou  had  been  of  the  congrega- 
tion; and  if  they  can  do  so  much  for  an  old  jj readier  with  a 
long  tongue,  surely  they  can  for  a  sweet  young  lady;  and  if 


180  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

they  could  shelter  her  just  for  to-morrow,  till  the  suspicion 
is  over,  then  would  I  come  for  madame  with  my  cart,  and 
carry  her  into  Chollet  among  the  trusses  of  hay,  as  we  had 
fixed. " 

Eustacie  was  already  tying  her  cloak,  and  asking  for 
Lucette;  but  she  was  grieved  to  hear  that  Martin  had  sent 
her  to  vespers  to  disarm  suspicion,  and  moreover  that  he 
meant  not  to  tell  her  of  his  new  device,  "  The  creature  is 
honest  enough,"  he  said,  "but  the  way  to  be  safe  with 
women  is  not  to  let  them  know. " 

He  cut  short  all  messages  and  expressions  of  gratitude, 
and  leading  Eustacie  to  a  small  stream,  he  made  her  creep 
along  its  course,  with  her  feet  in  the  Avater  so  as  to  be  shel- 
tered by  the  boughs  that  hung  over  the  banks,  while  he  used 
his  long  strides  to  enable  him  to  double  back  and  enter  into 
conversation  with  passers-by,  quite  off  the  track  of  the 
Grange  da  Temple,  but  always  telling  her  where  he  should 
join  her  again,  and  leaving  with  her  the  great  dog,  whom 
she  had  come  to  regard  as  a  friend  and  protector.  Leaving 
the  brook,  he  conducted  her  beneath  hedges  and  by  lonely 
woodland  paths  beyond  the  confines  of  her  own  property, 
to  a  secluded  valley,  so  shut  in  by  Avooded  hills  that  she  liad 
not  been  aware  of  its  existence.  Through  an  extensive 
orchard,  she  at  length,  when  nearly  spent  with  the  walk, 
beheld  the  cluster  of  stone  buildings,  substantial  as  the 
erections  of  religious  orders  are  wont  to  be. 

Martin  found  a  seat  for  her,  where  she  might  wait  while 
he  went  on  alone  to  the  house,  and  presently  returned  with 
both  the  good  people  of  the  farm.  They  were  more  off-hand 
and  less  deferential  than  were  her  own  people,  but  were 
full  of  kindliness.  They  were  middle-aged  folk,  most  neatly 
clad,  and  with  a  grave,  thoughtful  look  about  them,  as  if 
life  were  a  much  heavier  charge  to  them  than  to  their  light- 
hearted  neighbors. 

"  A  fair  day  to  you,  madame,'^  said  the  farmer,  doffing 
his  wide-flapped  hat.  "lam  glad  to  serve  a  sufferer  for 
the  truth's  sake. " 

"  My  husband  was,"  faltered  Eustacie. 

"  Ah  !  la  panvre,"  cried  the  good  woman,  pressing  for- 
ward as  she  saw  how  faint,  laeated,  and  exhausted  was  the 
wanderer.  "  Come  in,  7na  jxmvrette.  Only  a  bride  at 
the  Bartholomew!     Alas!     There,  lean  on  me,  my  dear." 

To  be  tiUoyce  by  the  Fermiere  Botrou  wa§  a  sbockj  yet 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  fEAHLS.  181 

the  kind  manner  was  comfortable,  and  Eustacie  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  into  the  farm-house,  where,  as  the  dame 
observed,  she  need  not  fear  chance-comers,  for  they  lived 
much  to  themselves,  and  no  one  would  be  about  till  their 
boy  Eobinet  came  in  with  the  cows.  She  might  rest  and 
eat  there  in  security,  and  after  that  they  would  find  a  hid- 
ing-place for  her — safe  as  the  horns  of  the  altar — for  y 
night  or  two;  only  for  two  nights  at  most. 

"  Nor  do  I  ask  more,"  said  Eustacie.  "  Then  Martin 
will  come  for  me. " 

"  Ay,  I,  or  Blaise,  or  whichever  of  us  can  do  it  with  least 
suspicion. " 

She  shall  meet  you  here,^*  added  Rotrou. 

*'  All  right,  good  man;  I  understand;  it  is  best  I  should 
not  know  where  you  hide  her.  Those  rogues  have  tricks 
that  make  it  as  well  to  know  nothing.  Farewell,  madame, 
I  commend  you  to  all  the  saints  till  I  come  for  you  on 
Monday  morning.  ^^ 

Eustacie  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  and  tried  to  thank 
him,  but  somehow  her  heart  sunk,  and  she  felt  more  lonely 
than  ever,  when  entirely  cast  loose  among  these  absolute 
strangers  than  amongst  her  own  vassals.  Even  the  farm- 
kitchen,  large,  stone-built,  and  scrupulously  clean,  seemed 
strange  and  dreary  after  the  little,  smoky,  earth-built  liv- 
ing-rooms in  which  her  peasantry  were  content  to  live,  and 
she  never  had  seemed  to  herself  so  completely  desolate;  but 
all  the  time  she  was  so  wearied  out  with  her  long  and  pain- 
ful walk,  that  she"  had  no  sooner  taken  some  food  than  she 
began  to  doze  in  her  chair. 

"  Father,' '  said  the  good  wife,  "  we  had  better  take  la 
pauvrette  to  her  rest  at  once. " 

"  Ah!  must  I  go  any  further?"  sighed  Eustacie. 

**  It  is  but  a  few  fields  beyond  the  yard,  ma  petite,"  said 
the  good  woman  consolingly;  "  and  it  will  be  safer  to  take 
you  there  ere  we  need  a  light. ' ' 

The  sun  had  just  set  on  a  beautiful  evening  of  a  spring 
that  hapj)ily  for  Eustacie  had  been  unusually  warm  and 
mild,  when  they  set  forth,  the  dame  having  loaded  her  hus- 
band with  a  roll  of  bedding,  and  herself  taking  a  pitcher  of 
milk  and  a  loaf  of  bread,  whilst  Eustacie,  as  usual,  carried 
her  own  small  parcel  of  clothes  and  jewels.  The  way  was 
CJertainly  not  long  to  any  one  less  exhausted  than  she;  it 
was  along  a  couple  of  fields^  and  then  through  a  piece  of 


182  THE  CHAPLET  OP  TEAELS. 

thicket;,  where  Eotrou  held  back  the  boughs  and  his  wife 
almost  dragged  her  on  with  kind  encouraging  words,  till 
they  came  u])  to  a  stone  ivy-covered  wall,  and  coasting 
along  it  to  a  tower,  evidcntl}!  a  staircase  turret.  Here 
Rotrou,  holding  aside  an  enormous  bush  of  ivy,  showed  the 
foot  of  a  winding  staircase,  and  his  wife  assured  her  that 
she  would  not  have  far  to  climb. 

She  knew  where  she  was  now.  She  had  heard  of  the  old 
Refectory  of  the  Knights  Temjilars.  Partly  demolished  by 
the  hatred  of  the  peojjle  upon  the  abolition  of  the  order,  it 
had  ever  since  lain  waste,  and  had  become  the  center  of  all 
the  ghostly  traditions  of  the  country;  the  locality  of  all  the 
most  horrid  tales  of  revoiants  told  tnider  the  breath  at 
Dame  Perrine's  hearth  or  at  recreation  hour  at  Bellaise. 
Her  courage  was  not  jDroof  against  spiritual  terrors.  She 
panted  and  leaned  against  the  Mall,  as  she  faintly  ex- 
claimed, "  The  temple — there — and  alone  !'^ 

"  Na}',  lady,  methought  as  Monsieur  rot  re  marl  knew 
the  true  light,  you  would  fear  no  vain  terror  nor  ])Ower  of 
darkness." 

Should  these  jieasants — these  villains — be  bold,  and  see 
the  descendant  of  the  "  bravest  of  knights, '^  the  daughter 
of  the  house  of  Pibaumont,  afraid?  She  rallied  herself, 
and  replied  manfully,  "  I  fear  not,  no!"  but  then,  woman- 
fidly,  "But  it  is  the  temple!  It  is  haunted!  Tell  me 
what  I  must  expect. " 

"  I  tell  you  truly,  madame,"  said  Rotrou;  "  none  whom 
I  have  sheltered  here  have  seen  aught.  On  the  faith  of  a 
Christian,  no  evil  spirit — no  ghost—has  ever  alarmed  them; 
but  they  were  fortified  by  prayer  and  psalm. " 

"  I  do  pray!  I  have  a  psalm-book, ''  said  Eustacie,  and 
she  added  to  herself,  "  No,  they  shall  never  see  that  I  fear. 
After  all,  revenants  can  do  nothing  worse  than  scare  one; 
they  can  not  touch  one;  the  saints  and  angels  Avill  not  let 
them — and  my  uncle  would  do  much  worse." 

But  to  climb  those  winding  stairs,  and  resign  herself  to 
be  left  alone  with  the  Templars  for  the  night,  was  by  far 
the  severest  trial  that  had  yet  befallen  the  poor  young  fugi- 
tive. As  her  tired  feet  dragged  ujj  the  crumbling  steps, 
her  memory  reverted  to  the  many  tales  of  the  sounds  heard 
by  night  within  those  walls — church  chants  turning  into 
diabolical  songs,  and  ending  in  terrific  shrieks — or  of  the 
sights  that  had  chased  bewildered  travelers  iu to  thickets  and 


THE    CttAVLET    OF    PEARLS.  183 

morpsses,  where  they  had  been  found  in  the  morning,  shud- 
dering as  they  told  of  a  huge  white  monk,  with  clanking 
weapons,  and  a  burning  cross  of  fire  printed  on  his  shoul- 
der and  breast,  who  stood  on  the  walls  and  hurled  a  shriek- 
ing babe  into  the  abyss.  Were  such  spectacles  awaiting 
her?  Must  she  bear  them,  and  could  her  endurance  hold 
out?     Our  Lady  be  her  aid,  and  spare  her  in  her  need ! 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  found  liotrou's  hand,  ready 
to  help  her  out  on  a  stone  floor,  quite  dark,  but  thickly 
covered,  as  she  felt  and  smelled,  with  trusses  of  hay,  be- 
tween which  a  glimmering  light  showed  a  narrow  passage. 
A  few  steps  guided  by  Kotrou's  hand,  brought  her  out  into 
the  light  again,  and  she  found  Ivrself  in  a  large  chamber, 
with  the  stone  floor  broken  away  in  some  places,  and  with 
a  circular  window,  thickly  veiled  with  ivy,  but  still  admit- 
ting a  good  deal  of  evening  ligh". 

It  was  in  fact  a  chamber  over  the  vaulted  refectory  of  the 
knights.  The  walls  and  vaults  still  standing  in  their  mass- 
ive solidity,  must  have  tempted  some  peasant,  or  mayhap 
some  adventurer,  rudely  to  covor  in  the  roof  (which  had  of 
course  been  strijDjied  of  its  leading),  and  thus  in  the  unsus- 
pected S2)ace  to  secure  a  hiding-place,  often  for  less  inno- 
cent commodities  than  the  salt,  which  the  iniquitous  and 
oppressivo  gahelle  had  always  led  the  French  peasant  to 
smuggle,  ever  since  the  days  of  the  first  Valois.  The  room 
had  a  certain  apjjearance  of  comfort;  there  was  a  partition 
across  it,  a  heartii  with  some  remains  of  wood-ashes,  a  shelf, 
holding  a  plate,  cup,  lamp,  and  a  few  other  necessaries; 
and  altogether  the  aspect  of  the  place  was  so  unlike  what 
Eustacie  had  expected,  that  she  almost  forgot  the  Templar 
as  she  saw  the  dame  begin  to  arrange  a  comfortable-looking 
couch  for  her  wearied  limbs.  Yet  she  felt  very  unwilling 
to  let  them  depart,  and  even  ventured  on  faltering  out  the 
inquiry  whether  the  good  woman  could  not  stay  with  her — 
she  would  reward  her  largely. 

"It  is  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  madame,  not  for  gain,^' 
said  Nanon  Rotrou,  rather  stiffly.  "  If  you  were  ill,  or 
needed  me,  all  must  then  give  way;  but  for  me  to  be  ab- 
sent this  evening  would  soon  be  reported  around  the  viDage 
down  there,  for  there  are  many  who  would  find  occasion 
against  us. '^  ]?ut,  by  way  of  consolation,  they  gave  her  a 
whistle,  and  showed  her  that  the  window  of  their  cottage 
was  much  nearer  to  u  loophole-silit  looking  toward  the  east 


184  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

than  she  had  fancied.  The  whistle  perpetrated  a  most  un- 
earthly screech,  a  good  deal  like  that  of-  an  owl,  but  more 
discordant,  and  Nan  on  assured  her  that  the  sound  would 
assuredly  break  her  slumbers,  and  bring  her  in  a  few  min- 
utes at  any  moment  of  need.  In  fact,  the  noise  was  so  like 
the  best  authenticated  accounts  of  the  shrieks  indulged  in 
by  the  spirits  of  the  temple,  that  Eustacie  had  wit  enough 
to  suspect  that  it  might  be  the  foundation  of  some  of  the 
stories;  and  with  that  solace  to  her  alarms,  she  endured  the 
departure  of  her  hosts,  Nanon  promising  a  visit  in  the 
early  morning. 

The  poor  cliild  was  too  weary  to  indulge  in  many  terrors, 
the  beneficent  torpor  of  excessive  fatigue  was  upon  her, 
happily  bringing  slumberous  obHvion  instead  of  feverish 
restlessness.  She  strove  to  repeat  her  accustomed  orisons: 
but  sleep  was  too  strong  for  her,  and  she  was  soon  lying 
dreamlessly  upon  the  clean  homely  couch  prepared  for  her. 

When  she  awoke,  it  was  with  a  start.  The  moon  was 
shining  in  through  the  circular  window,  making  strange 
white  shapes  on  the  floor,  all  quivering  with  the  shadows 
of  the  ivy  sprays.  It  looked  strange  and  eerie  enough  at 
the  moment,  but  she  understood  it  the  next,  and  would 
have  been  reassured  if  she  had  not  become  aware  that  there 
was  a  low  sound,  a  tramp,  tramp,  below  her.  "  Gracious 
saints!  The  Templar  I  Have  mercy  on  me!  Oh!  I  was 
too  sleepy  to  pray!  Guard  me  from  being  driven  wild  by 
fright!"  She  sat  upright,  with  wide-spread  eyes,  and, 
finding  that  she  herself  was  in  the  moonlight,  through 
some  opening  in  the  roof,  she  took  refuge  in  the  darkest 
corner,  though  aware  as  she  crouched  there,  that  if  this 
were  indeed  the  Templar,  concealment  would  be  in  vain, 
and  remembering  suddenly  that  she  was  out  of  reach  of 
the  loop-hole  window. 

And  therewith  there  was  a  tired  sound  in  the  tread,  as  if 
the  Templar  found  his  weird  a  very  lengthy  one;  then  a 
long  heavy  breath,  with  something  so  essentially  human  in 
its  sound,  that  the  fluttering  heart  beat  more  steadily.  If 
reason  told  her  that  the  living  were  more  perilous  to  her 
than  the  dead,  yet  feeling  infinitely  preferred  them!  It 
might  be  Nanon  Rotrou  after  all;  then  how  foolish  to  be 
crouching  there  in  a  fright!  It  was  rustling  through  the 
hay.  No — no  Nanon ;  it  is  a  male  figure,  it  has  a  long 
cloak  on.     Ahl  it  is  in  the  moonlight — silver  hair — silver 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  185 

beard.  The  Templar!  Fascinated  with  dismay,  yet  calling 
to  mind  that  no  ghost  has  power  unless  addressed,  she  sat 
still,  crossing  herself  in  silence,  but  unable  to  call  to  mind 
any  j^rayer  or  invocation  save  a  continuous  "  Ave  Mary,^* 
and  trying  to  restrain  her  gasping  breatli,  lest,  if  he  were 
not  the  Templar  after  all,  he  might  discover  lier  presence. 

He  moved  about,  took  off  his  cloak,  laid  it  down  near  the 
ha}-,  then  his  caj),  not  a  helmet  after  all,  and  there  was  no 
fiery  cross.  He  was  in  the  gloom  again,  and  she  heard  him 
moving  much  as  though  he  were  pulling  down  the  hay  to 
form  a  bed.  Did  ghosts  ever  do  anything  so  sensible?  If 
he  were  an  embodied  spirit,  would  it  be  possible  to  creep 
past  him  and  escape  while  he  lay  asleep?  She  was  almost 
becoming  familiarized  with  the  presence,  and  the  super- 
natural terror  was  passing  off  into  a  consideration  of  re- 
sources, when,  behold,  he  was  beginning  to  sing.  To  sing 
was  the  very  way  the  ghosts  began  ere  they  came  to  their 
devilish  outcries.  "  Our  Lady  keep  it  from  bringing 
frenzy.  But  hai'k!  hark!'^  It  was  not  one  of  the  ciuuits, 
it  was  a  tune  and  words  heard  in  older  times  of  her  life;  it 
was  the  evening  hymn,  that  the  little  husband  and  wife 
had  been  wont  to  sing  to  the  baron  in  the  Chateau  de 
Leurre — Marot's  version  of  the  4;th  Psalm. 

"  Plus  de  joie  m'est  donnee 
Par  ce  moyen,  O  Dieu  Tri^s-IIaut, 
Que  n'ont  ceux  qui  ont  grant  annee 
De  f  roment  et  bouue  vinee, 
D'liuile  et  tout  ce  qu'il  leur  fault." 

If  it  had  indeed  been  the  ghostly  chant,  perhaps  Eustacie 
would  not  have  been  able  to  help  joining  it.  As  it  was,  the 
familiar  home  words  irresistibly  impelled  her  to  mingle  her 
voice,  scarce  knowing  what  she  did,  in  the  verse — 

"  Si  qu'en  paix  et  sfirete  bonne 
Coucherai  et  reposerai; 
Car,  Seigneur  ta  boute  tout  ordonne 
Et  elle  seule  espoir  me  donne 
Que  sur  et  seal  regnant  serai." 

The  hymn  died  away  in  its  low  cadence,  and  then,  ere 
Eustacie  had  had  time  to  think  of  the  consequences  of  thus 
raising  her  voice,  the  new-comer  demanded : 

*'  Is  there  then  another  wanderer  here?'^ 

*'Ah!  sir,  pardon  me!"    she  exclaimed.     "I   will  not 


186  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

long  importune  you,  bat  only  till  morning  light — only  till 
the  Fermiere  llotrou  comes." 

"  If  Matthieu  and  Anne  Eotrou  placed  you  here,  then 
all  is  well,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  Fear  not,  daughter, 
but  tell  me.  Are  you  one  of  my  scattered  flock,  or  one 
whose  parents  are  known  to  me?"  Then,  as  she  hesitated, 
"I  am  Isaac  Gardon — escaped,  alas!  alone,  from  the 
elaughter  of  the  Barthelemy. "' 

"  Master  Gardon!"  cried  Eustacie.  "  Oh,  I  know! 
Oh,  sir,  my  husband  loved  and  honored  you." 

"  Your  husband?" 

"  ^  es,  sir,  le  Baron  dc  Ribaumont. " 

"  That  fair  and  godly  youth!  My  dear  old  patron's  son! 
You — you!  But — "  with  a  shade  of  doubt,  almost  of  dis- 
may, "  the  boy  was  wedded— wedded  to  the  heiress — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  am  that  unhappy  one!  We  were  to  have 
fled  together  on  that  dreadful  night.  He  came  to  meet  me 
to  the  Louvre — to  his  doom!"  she  gasped  out,  nearer  to 
tears  than  she  had  ever  been  since  that  time,  such  a  novelty 
was  it  to  her  to  hear  Berenger  spoken  of  in  kind  or  tender 
terms;  and  in  her  warmth  of  feeling,  she  came  out  of  her 
corner,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  Alas!  poor  thing!"  said  the  minister,  comimssionately, 
"  Heaven  has  tried  you  sorely.  Had  I  known  of  your  pres- 
ence here,  I  would  not  have  entered;  but  I  have  been  ab- 
sent long,  and  stole  into  my  lair  here  without  disturbing 
the  good  people  below.     Forgive  the  intrusion,  madame. " 

"  No,  sir,  it  is  I  who  have  to  ask  pardon.  Were  I  not  a 
desolate  fugitive,  with  nowhere  to  hide  myself,  I  would  not 
incommode  you. " 

The  minister  replied  warmly  that  surely  persecution  was  a 
brotherhood,  even  had  she  not  been  the  widow  of  one  he 
had  loved  and  lamented. 

"  Ah!  sir,  it  does  me  good  to  hear  you  say  so. " 

And  therewith  Eustacie  remembered  the  hospitalities  of 
her  loft.  She  jDcrceived  by  the  tones  of  the  old  man's  voice 
that  he  was  tired,  and  probably  fasting,  and  she  felt  about 
for  the  milk  and  bread  with  which  she  had  been  supplied. 
It  was  a  most  welcome  refreshment,  though  he  only  par- 
took sparingly;  and  while  he  eat,  the  two,  so  strangely  met, 
came  to  a  fuller  knowledge  of  one  another's  circumstances. 

Master  Isaac  Gardon  had,  it  aj^peared,  been  residing  at 
Paris,  in  the  house  of  the  watch-maker  whose  daughter  luid 


THE  CHAPLET  of  PEARLS.  187 

been  newly  married  to  his  son;  but  on  the  fatal  eve  of  St. 
Bartholomew,  he  had  been  sent  for  to  pray  with  a  sick  per- 
son in  another  quarter  of  the  city.  Tiie  Catholic  friends 
of  the  invalid  were  humane,  and  when  the  horrors  began, 
not  onfy  concealed  their  kinsman,  but  almost  forcibly  shut 
np  the  minister  in  the  same  cellar  with  him.  And  thus, 
most  reluctantly,  had  he  been  spared  from  the  fate  thai 
overtook  his  son  and  daughter-in-law.  A  lone  and  well- 
nigh  broken-hearted  man,  he  had  been  smuggled  out  of  the 
city,  and  had  since  that  time  been  wandering  from  one  to 
another  of  the  many  scattered  settlements  of  Huguenots  in 
the  northern  part  of  France,  who,  being  left  pastorless,  wel- 
comed visits  from  the  minister  of  their  religion,  and  passed 
him  on  from  one  place  to  another,  as  his  stay  in  each  began 
to  be  suspected  by  the  authorities.  He  was  now  on  his  way 
along  the  west  side  of  France,  with  no  fixed  purpose,  except 
so  far  as,  since  Heaven  had  spared  his  life  when  all  that 
made  it  dear  had  been  taken  from  him,  he  resigned  himself 
to  believe  that  there  was  yet  some  duty  left  for  him  to  ful- 
fill. 

Meantime  the  old  man  was  wearied  out;  and  after  due 
courtesies  had  passed  between  him  and  the  lady  in  the  dark, 
he  prayed  long  and  fervently,  as  Eustacie  could  judge  from 
the  intensity  of  the  low  murmurs  she  heard;  and  then  she 
heard  him,  with  a  heavy  irrepressible  sigh,  lie  down  on  the 
couch  of  hay  he  had  already  prepared  for  himself,  and  soon 
his  regular  breathings  announced  his  sound  slumbers.  She 
was  already  on  the  bed  she  h;ul  so  precipitately  quitted,  and 
not  a  thought  more  did  she  give  to  the  Templars,  living  or 
dead,  even  though  she  heard  an  extraordinary  snapping 
and  hissing,  and  in  the  dawn  of  the  morning  saw  a  white 
weird  thing,  like  a  huge  moth.  Hit  in  through  tlie  circular 
window,  take  up  its  station  on  a  beam  above  the  hay, 
and  look  down  with  the  brightest,  roundest  eyes  she  had 
ever  beheld.  Let  owls  and  bats  come  where  they  would, 
she  was  happier  than  she  had  been  for  months.  Compas- 
sion for  herself  was  plentiful  enough,  but  to  have  heard 
Berenger  spoken  of  with  love  and  admiration  seenied  to 
quiet  the  worst  ache  of  her  lonely  heart. 


188  tHE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

THE   MOONBEAM. 

She  wandered  east,  she  wandered  west. 

She  wandered  out  and  in; 
And  at  hist  into  the  very  swine's  stythe 

The  queen  brought  fortli  a  son. 

Favse  Foodrage. 

The  morrow  was  Sunday,  and  in  the  old  refectory,  in 
the  late  afternoon,  a  few  Huguenots,  warned  by  messages 
from  the  farm,  met  to  profit  by  one  of  their  scanty  secret 
opportunities  for  public  worship.  The  hum  of  the  prayer, 
and  discourse  of  the  pastor,  rose  uj)  through  the  broken 
vaulting  to  Eustacie,  still  lying  on  her  bed;  for  she  had 
been  much  shaken  by  the  fatigues  of  the  day  and  alarm  of 
the  night,  and  bitterly  grieved,  too,  by  a  message  which 
Nanon  conveyed  to  her,  that  poor  Martin  was  in  no  state  to 
come  for  her  the  next  day;  both  he  and  his  wife  having 
been  seized  upon  by  Narcisse  and  his  men,  and  so  savagely 
beaten  in  order  to  force  from  them  a  confession  of  her  hid- 
ing-place, that  both  were  lying  helpless  on  their  bed;  and 
could  only  send  an  entreaty  by  the  trustworthy  fool,  that 
Kotrou  would  find  means  of  conveying  madame  into  Chol- 
let  in  some  cart  of  hay  or  corn,  in  which  she  could  be 
taken  past  the  barriers. 

But  this  was  not  to  be.  Good  Nanon  had  sacrificed  the 
sermon  to  creep  u^j  to  Eustacie,  and  when  the  congregation 
were  dispersing  in  the  dusk,  she  stole  down  the  stairs  to 
her  husband;  and  in  a  few  seconds  after  he  was  hurrying 
as  fast  as  detours  would  allow  him  to  Blaise's  farm.  An 
hour  and.  a  half  later,  Uame  Perrine,  closely  blindfolded 
for  the  last  mile,  was  dragged  uj)  the  spiral  staircase,  and 
ere  the  bandage  was  removed  heard  Eustacie's  voice,  with 
a  certain  cheeriness,  say,  "Oh!  nurse;  my  son  will  soon 
come!" 

The  full  moon  gave  her  light,  and  the  woman  durst  not 
have  any  other,  save  from  the  wood-fire  that  Nanon  had 
cautiously  lighted  and  screened.  The  moonshine  was  still 
supreme,  when  some  time  later  a  certain  ominous  silence 
and  half-whisper  between  the  two  women  at  the  hearth 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEA  ELS.  189 

made  Eustacie^,  witli  a  low  cry  of  terror,  exclaim,  "  Nurse, 
nurse,  what  means  this?  Oh!  lie  lives!  I  know  he  lives! 
Perrine,  I  command  you  tell  me!" 

"  Living!  Oh,  yes,  my  love,  my  lady,^'  answered  Per- 
rine, returning  toward  her;  "  fair  and  perfect  as  the  day. 
Be  not  disquieted  for  a  moment. " 

"  I  will— I  will  disquiet  myself,''  panted  Euetacie,  "  un- 
less you  tell  me  what  is  amiss. " 

"  Nothing  amiss,"  said  Nanon  gruffly.  "Madame  will 
give  thanks  for  this  fair  gift  of  a  daughter." 

It  must  be  owned  the  words  felt  chill.  She  had  never 
thought  of  this!  It  was  as  if  the  being  for  whom  she  had 
dared  and  suffered  so  much,  in  the  trust  that  he  would  be 
Berenger's  representative  and  avenger,  had  failed  her  and 
disappointed  her.  No  defender,  no  paladin,  no  son  to  be 
proud  of!  Her  heart  and  courage  sunk  down  in  her  weak- 
ness as  they  had  never  done  before;  and,  without  speaking, 
she  turned  her  head  away  toward  the  darkness,  feeling  as 
if  all  had  been  for  nothing,  and  she  might  as  well  sink 
away  in  her  exhaustion.  Mere  Perrine  was  more  angry 
with  Nanon  than  conscious  of  her  lady's  weakness. 
"  Woman,  you  speak  as  if  you  knew  not  the  blow  to  this 
family,  and  to  all  who  hoiked  for  better  days.  "What,  that 
my  lady,  the  heiress,  who  ought  to  be  in  a  bed  of  state, 
with  velvet  curtains,  lace  pillows,  gold  caudle-cups,  should 
be  here  in  a  vile  ruin,  among  owls  and  bats,  like  any  beg- 
gar, and  all  for  the  sake,  not  of  a  young  lord  to  raise  up 
the  family,  but  of  a  miserable  little  girl!  Had  I  known 
how  it  would  turn  out,  I  had  never  meddled  in  this  mad 
scheme." 

Before  Nanon  could  express  her  indignation,  Eustacie 
had  turned  her  head,  ojjened  her  eyes,  and  called  out, 
*'•  Miserable!  Oh!  what  do  you  mean?  Oh,  is  it  true, 
Nanon?  is  it  well  with  her?" 

"  As  well  as  heart  could  wish,"  answered  Nanon,  cheer- 
ily. "  Small,  but  a  perfect  little  piece  of  sugar.  There, 
lady,  she  shall  speak  for  herself. ' ' 

And  as  Nanon  laid  the  babe  on  the  mother's  bosom,  the 
thrilling  touch  at  once  put  an  end  to  all  the  repinings  of 
the  heiress,  and  awoke  far  other  instincts. 

"My  child!  my  little  one,  my  poor  little  orphan — all 
cruel  to  her!  Oh,  no  welcome  even  from  thy  mother! 
BabC;  babe,  pardon  me,  I  will  make  it  up  to  thee;  indeed 


190  THE    CHAP  LET    OF    TEARLS. 

I  will!     Oil!  let  me  see  her!     Do  not  take  her  away,  dear 
good  woman,  only  hold  her  in  the  moonlight!" 

The  full  rays  of  the  moon,  shining  through  the  gable 
window,  streamed  down  very  near  where  Eastacie  lay,  and 
by  a  slight  movement  Dame  Rotrou  was  able  to  render  the 
little  face  as  distinctly  visible  to  her  as  if  it  had  been  day- 
light, save  that  the  blanching  light  was  somewhat  em- 
bellishing to  the  new-born  complexion,  and  increased  that 
curious  resemblance  so  often  borne  for  the  first  few  hours 
of  life  to  the  future  self.  Eustacie's  cry  at  once  was, 
*'  Himself,  himself — his  very  face!  Let  me  have  her,  my 
own  moonbeam — his  child — my  joy!" 

The  tears,  so  long  denied,  rushed  down  like  summer  rain 
as  she  clasped  the  child  in  her  arms.  Dame  Perrine  wan- 
dered to  and  fro,  like  one  beside  herself,  not  only  at  her 
lady's  wretched  accommodations,  but  at  the  ill  omens  of 
the  moonlight  illumination,  of  the  owls  who  snapped  and 
hissed  incessantly  over  the  hay,  and  above  all  of  the  tears 
over  the  babe's  face.  She  tried  to  remonstrate  with  Eus- 
tacie,  but  was  answered  only,  "  Let  me  weep!  Oh,  let  me 
weep!  It  eases  my  heart!  It  can  not  hurt  my  little  one! 
She  can  not  weep  for  her  father  herself,  so  I  must  weep  for 
her." 

The  weeping  was  gentle,  not  violent;  and  Dame  Rotrou 
thought  it  did  good  rather  than  harm.  She  was  chiefly 
anxious  to  be  quit  of  Perrine,  who,  however  faithful  to 
the  Lady  of  Ribaumont,  must  not  be  trusted  to  learn  the 
way  to  this  Huguenot  asylum,  and  must  be  escorted  back 
by  Rotrou  ere  peep  of  dawn.  The  old  woman  knew  that 
her  own  absence  from  home  would  be  suspicious,  and  with 
many  g:rumblings  submitted;  but  first  she  took  the  child 
from  Eustacie's  reluctant  arms,  promising  to  restore  her  in 
a  few  moments,  after  finishing  dressing  her  in  the  lace- 
edged  swaddling-bands  so  carefully  preserved  ever  since 
Eustacie's  own  babyhood.  In  these  moments  she  had  taken 
them  all  by  surjirise  by,  without  asking  any  questions, 
sprinkling  the  babe  with  water,  and  baptizing  her  by  the 
hereditary  name  of  Berengere,  the  feminine  of  the  only 
name  Eustacie  had  always  declared  her  son  should  bear. 
Such  baptisms  were  not  unfrequently  performed  by  French 
nurses,  but  Eustacie  exclaimed  with  a  sound  half  dismay, 
half  indignation. 

^'  Uh  qiioi!"  said  Perrine,  "it  is  only  ondoycc.     You 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  191 

can  have  all  the  ceremonies  if  ever  time  shall  fit;  l)ut  do 
you  think  I  could  leave  my  lady's  child — mere  girl  though 
it  be — alone  with  owls,  and  foUcts,  and  revenants,  and 
heretics,  and  she  unbaptized?  She  would  be  a  changeling 
long  ere  morning,  I  trow.  " 

"  Come,  good  woman,"  said  Rotron,  from  between  the 
trusses  of  hay  at  the  entrance;  "  you  and  I  must  begin  our 
Colin-Maillard  again,  or  it  may  be  the  worst  for  us  both." 

And  with  the  promise  of  being  conducted  to  Eustacie 
again  in  three  nights'  time,  if  she  would  meet  her  guide  at 
the  cross-roads  after  dark,  Perrine  was  forced  to  take  her 
leave.  She  had  never  suspected  that  all  this  time  Maitre 
Garden  had  been  hidden  in  the  refectory  below,  and  still 
less  did  she  guess  that  soon  after  her  departure  the  old  man 
was  installed  as  her  lady's  chief  attendant.  It  was  impos- 
sible that  Nanon  should  stay  with  Eustacie;  she  had  her 
day's  work  to  attend  to,  and  her  absence  would  have  excit- 
ed suspicion.  He,  therefore,  came  partly  up  the  stairs, 
and  calling  to  Nanon,  proffered  himself  to  sit  with  "  cctte 
pmivre,"  and  make  a  signal  in  case  Nanon  should  bo 
wanted.  The  good  woman  was  thus  relieved  of  a  great 
care.  She  would  not  have  dared  to  ask  it  of  him,  but  with 
a  low  reverence,  she  owned  that  it  was  an  act  of  great 
charity  toward  the  poor  lady,  who,  she  hoped,  was  falling 
i  ito  a  tranquil  sleep,  but  whom  she  would  hardly  have 
da'"ed  to  leave.  Tiie  pastor,  though  hardships,  battles, 
a  id  persecutions  had  left  him  childless,  had  been  the  father 
of  a  large  family;  and  perliaj)S  he  was  drawn  the  more 
s'.rongly  toward  the  mother  and  child,  because  he  almost 
f-lt  as  if,  in  fulfilling  the  part  of  a  father  toward  the  widow 
of  Berenger  de  Ribaumont,  he  was  taking  her  in  the  stead 
of  the  widow  of  his  own  Theodore. 

Had  the  little  Baroime  de  Ribaumont  been  lodged  in  a 
lapestried  chamber,  between  curtains  of  velvet  and  gold, 
with  a  heauffet  by  her  side  glistening  with  gold  and  silver 
plate,  as  would  have  befitted  her  station,  instead  of  lying 
on  a  bed  of  straw,  with  no  hangings  to  the  walls  save  cob- 
webs and  hay,  no  curtains  to  her  unglazed  windows  but 
dancing  ivy-spraj's  and  wall-flowers,  no  leavfet  but  the 
old  rickety  table,  no  attendants  but  Nanon  and  M.  Garden, 
no  visitors  but  the  two  white  owls,  no  provisions  save  the 
homely  fare  that  rustic  mothers  lived  upon — neither  she 
nor  her  babe  could  have  thriven  better,  and  probably  not 


192  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

half  so  well.  She  had  heen  used  to  a  hardy,  out-of-door 
life,  like  the  peasant-women;  and  she  was  young  and 
strong,  so  tliat  she  recovered  as  they  did.  If  the  April 
shower  beat  in  at  the  window,  or  the  hole  in  the  roof,  they 
made  a  screen  of  canvas,  covered  her  with  cloaks,  and 
heaped  them  with  hay,  and  she  took  no  harm;  and  the  pure 
open  air  that  blew  in  was  soft  with  all  tlie  southern  sweet- 
ness of  early  s^iring-tide,  and  the  little  one  throve  in  it  like 
the  puff-bail  owlets  in  the  hay-loft,  or  the  little  ring-doves 
iu  the  ivy,  whose  parent's  cooing  voice  was  Eustacie's  fa- 
vorite music.  Almost  as  good  as  these  her  fellow-nestlings 
was  the  little  Moonbeam,  la  petite  Eayonette,  as  Eustacie 
fondly  called  this  light  that  had  come  back  to  her  from  the 
sunshine  she  luid  lost.  Had  she  cried  or  been  heard,  the 
sounds  would  probably  have  passed  for  the  wailings  of  the 
ghostly  victims  of  the  Templar,  but  she  exercised  an  ex- 
emjjlary  forbearance  in  that  respect,  for  which  Eustacie 
thought  slie  could  not  be  sufficiently  admired. 

Like  the  child  she  was,  Eustacie  seemed  to  have  put  care 
from  her,  and  to  be  solely  taken  up  with  the  baby,  and  the 
amusement  of  watching  the  owl  family. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  search  at  this  moment,  for  the 
chevalier  had  been  recalled  to  Paris  by  the  fatal  illness  of 
liis  son-in-law,  M.  de  Selinville.  The  old  soldier,  after  liv- 
ing half  his  life  on  bread  and  salad,  that  he  might  keep  up 
a  grand  appearance  at  Paris,  had,  on  coming  into  the 
wealth  of  the  family,  and  marrying  a  beautiful  wife,  re- 
turned to  the  luxuries  he  had  been  wont  only  to  enjoy  for 
a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  when  in  military  occupation  of  some 
Italian  town.  Three  months  of  festivities  had  been  enough 
to  cause  his  death;  and  the  chevalier  was  summoned  to  as- 
sist his  daughter  in  j^roviding  for  his  obsequies,  and  in  tak- 
ing possession  of  the  huge  endowments  which,  as  the  last 
of  his  race,  he  had  been  able  to  bequeath  to  her.  Such 
was  the  news  brought  by  the  old  nurse  Perrine,  who  took 
advantage  of  the  slackening  vigilance  of  the  enemy  to  come 
to  see  Eustacie.  The  old  woman  was  highly  satisfied;  for 
one  of  the  peasants'  wives  had — as  if  on  purpose  to  oblige 
her  lady — given  birth  to  twins,  one  of  whom  had  died  al- 
most immediately;  and  the  pai'ents  had  consented  to  con- 
ceal their  loss,  and  at  once  take  the  little  Demoiselle  de 
Ribaumont  as  their  own— guarding  the  secret  till  her  moth- 
er should  be  able  to  claim  her.     It  was  so  entirely  tlie 


THE    CIIATLET    OF    TEAIiLS.  193 

practice,  under  the  most  ftivorablo  circumstances,  for 
French  mothers  to  send  their  infants  to  be  nursed  in  cot- 
tages, that  Perrine  was  amazed  by  the  cry  of  angry  refusal 
that  burst  from  Eustacie,  "  Part  with  my  child!  Leave 
her  to  her  enemies! — never!  never!  Hold  your  tongue, 
Perrine!     I  will  not  hear  of  such  a  thing!'' 

"  But,  madame,  hear  reason.  She  will  pass  for  one  of 
Simonette's!'' 

"She  shall  pass  for  none  but  mine!  I  part  with  thee, 
indeed!  All  that  is  left  me  of  thy  father! — the  poor  little 
orphaned  innocent,  that  no  one  loves  but  her  mother!" 

"  Madame — mademoiselle,  this  is  not  common  sense! 
Why,  how  can  you  hide  yourself?  how  travel  with  a  baby 
on  your  neck,  whose  crying  may  betray  you?'' 

"  She  never  cries — never,  never!  And  better  I  were  be- 
trayed than  she. " 

"  If  it  were  a  boy — "  began  Perrine. 

*'  If  it  were  a  boy,  there  would  be  plenty  to  care  for  it.  I 
should  not  care  for  it  half  so  much.  As  for  my  poor  little 
lonely  girl,  whom  every  one  wishes  away  but  her  mother — • 
ah!  yes,  baby,  thy  mother  will  go  through  fire  and  water 
for  thee  yet.     Never  fear,  thou  shalt  not  leave  her!" 

''  No  nurse  can  go  with  madame.  Simonette  could  not 
leave  her  home." 

"  What  needs  a  nurse  when  she  has  me?" 

''But,  madame,"  jjroceeded  the  old  woman,  out  of  pa- 
tience, "you  are  beside  yourself!  What  noble  lady  ever 
nursed  her  babe?" 

"  I  don't  care  for  noble  ladies — I  care  for  my  child," 
said  the  vehement,  petulant  little  thing. 

"  And  how— what  good  will  madame 's  caring  for  it  do? 
AVliat  knows  she  of  infants?   How  can  she  take  care  of  it?" 

"  Our  Lady  will  teach  me,"  said  Eustacie,  still  pressing 
the  child  passionately  to  her  heart;  "  and  see — the  owl — • 
the  ring-dove — can  take  care  of  their  little  ones;  the  good 
God  shows  them  how — He  will  tell  me  how!" 

Perrine  regarded  her  lady  much  as  if  she  were  in  a 
naughty  fit,  refusing  unreasonably  to  part  with  a  new  toy, 
and  Nanon  Eotrou  was  much  of  the  same  mind;  but  it  was 
evident  that  if  at  the  moment  they  attempted  to  carry  off 
the  babe,  the  mother  would  put  herself  into  an  agony  of 
passion,  that  they  durst  not  call  forth;  and  they  found  it 
needful  to  do  their  best  to  sootlie  her  out  of  the  deluge  of 


194  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PE'.ELS. 

agifatecl  tears  that  fell  from  her  ej-es,  as  slie  grasped  the 
child  so  convulsively  that  she  might  almost  have  stifled  it 
at  once.  They  assured  her  that  they  would  not  take  it 
away  now — not  now,  at  any  rate;  and  when  the  latent 
meaning  made  her  fiercely  insist  that  it  was  to  leave  her 
neither  now  nor  ever,  Perrine  made  pacifying  declarations 
that  it  should  be  just  as  she  pleased— promises  that  she  knew 
well,  when  in  that  coaxing  voice,  meant  nothing  at  all. 
Nothing  calmed  her  till  Perrine  had  been  conducted  away; 
and  even  then  Nanon  could  not  hush  her  into  anything  like 
repose,  and  at  last  called  in  the  minister,  in  despair. 

"  Ah!  sir,  you  are  a  wise  man;  canj^ou  find  how  to  quiet 
the  poor  little  thing?  Her  nurse  has  nearly  driven  her  dis- 
tracted with  talking  of  the  foster-parents  she  has  found  for 
the  child.'' 

"  Not  found!"  cried  Eustacie.  "  No,  for  she  shall  never 
go!" 

"  There!"  lamented  Nanon — "  so  she  agitates  herself, 
when  it  is  but  spoken  of.  And  surely  she  had  better  make 
uj)  her  mind,  for  there  is  no  other  choice. " 

"  Nay,  Nanon,"  said  M.  Garden,  "  wherefore  should 
she  part  with  the  charge  that  God  has  laid  on  her?" 

Eustacie  gave  a  little  cry  of  grateful  joy.  "  Oh,  sir, 
come  nearer!  Do  you,  indeed,  say  that  they  have  no  right 
to  tear  her  from  me?" 

''  Surely  not,  lady.  It  is  you  whose  duty  it  is  to  shield 
and  guard  her." 

"  Oh,  sir,  tell  me  again!  Yours  is  the  right  religion. 
Oh,  you  are  the  minister  for  me!  If  you  will  tell  me  I 
ought  to  keep  my  child,  then  I  will  believe  everything  else. 
I  will  do  just  as  you  tell  me."  And  she  stretched  out 
both  hands  to  him  with  vehement  eagerness. 

''  Poor  thing!  This  is  no  matter  of  one  religion  or  an- 
other," said  the  minister;  "  it  is  rather  the  duty  that  the 
Almighty  hath  imposed,  and  that  He  hath  made  an  eternal 

"  Truly,"  said  Nanon,  ashamed  at  having  taken  the 
other  side;  "  the  good  ])asfe/ir  says  what  is  according  to 
nature.  It  would  have  gone  hard  with  me  if  anyoiiohad 
wished  to  part  mo  from  IJobin  or  Sara;  but  these  fine  ladies, 
and,  for  that  matter,  bourgeoises,  too,  always  do  put  out 
their  babes;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  madame  would  find 
it  hard  to  contrive  for  herself — let  alone  the  little  one, " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  195 

'*  i\h!  but  what  would  be  the  use  of  contriving  for  my- 
self without  her?"  siiid  Eustacie. 

If  all  had  gone  well  and  prosperously  ■with  Mme.  de  Ri- 
bauraont,  jjrobably  she  would  have  surrendered  an  infant 
born  in  purple  and  in  pall  to  the  ordinary  lot  of  its  con- 
temiDoraries;  but  the  exertions  and  suffering  she  had  under- 
gone on  behalf  of  her  child,  its  orphanhood,  her  own  loneli- 
ness, and  even  the  general  disappointment  in  its  sex,  had 
given  it  a  hold  on  her  vehement,  determined  heart,  that 
iutensified  to  the  utmost  the  instincts  of  motherhood;  and 
she  listened  as  if  to  an  angel's  voice  as  Maitre  Garden  re- 
plied to  Nanon: 

"  I  say  not  that  it  is  not  the  custom;  nay,  that  my 
blessed  wife  and  myself  have  not  followed  it;  but  we  have 
so  oft  had  cause  to  repent  the  necessity,  that  far  be  it  from 
me  ever  to  bid  a  woman  forsake  her  sucking  child. " 

''Is  that  Scripture?"  asked  Eustacie.  "Ah!  sir,  sir, 
tell  me  more!  \' on  are  giving  me  all — all — my  child!  I 
Avill  be — I  am — a  Huguenot  like  her  father!  and,  when  my 
vassals  come,  I  will  make  them  ride  with  you  to  La  lio- 
chelle,  and  fight  in  your  cause!'' 

"  Nay,"  said  Maitre  Garden,  taken  by  surprise;  "  but, 
lady,  your  vassals  are  Catholic." 

"  What  matters  it?  In  my  cause  they  shall  fight!"  said 
the  feudal  lady,  "  for  me  and  my  daughter!" 

And  as  the  pastor  uttered  a  sound  of  interrogative  aston- 
ishment, she  continued: 

"  As  soon  as  I  am  well  enough  Blaise  will  send  out  mes- 
sages, and  they  will  meet  me  at  midnight  at  the  cross- 
roads, Martin  and  all,  for  dear  good  Martin  is  quite  well 
now,  and  we  shall  ride  across  country,  avoiding  towns, 
wherever  I  choose  to  lead  them.  I  had  thought  of  Ohan- 
tilly,  for  I  know  Monsieur  de  Montmorency  would  stand 
my  friend  against  a  Guisard;  but  now,  now  I  know  you, 
sir,  let  me  escort  you  to  La  Eochelle,  and  do  your  cause 
service  worthy  of  Nid-de-Merle  and  Kibaumont!"  And  as 
she  sat  u^)  on  her  bed,  she  held  up  her  little  proud  head, 
and  waved  her  right  hand  with  the  grace  and  dignity  of  a 
queen  offering  an  alliance  of  her  realm. 

Maitre  Garden,  who  had  hitherto  seen  her  as  a  childish 
though  cheerful  and  patient  sufferer,  was  greatly  amazed, 
but  he  could  not  regard  her  project  as  practicable,  or  in. 
liis  conscience  aj)prove  it;  and  after  a  moment's  considera- 


lOf)  THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEARLS. 

tioii  lie  answered,  "  I  am  a  man  of  peace,  Ifidy,  and  seldom 
side  with  armed  men,  nor  would  I  lightly  make  one  of  those 
who  enroll  themselves  against  the  king. " 

"  Not  after  all  the  queen-mother  has  done?'^  cried 
Eustacie. 

"  Martyrdom  is  better  than  rebellion,^'  quietly  answered 
the  old  man,  folding  his  hands.  Then  he  added,  "  Far  be 
it  from  me  to  blame  those  who  have  drawn  the  sword  for 
the  faith:  yet,  lady,  it  would  not  be  even  thus  with  your 
peasants;  they  might  not  follow  you." 

'*  Then,"  said  Eustacie,  with  flashing  eyes,  "  they  would 
be  traitors." 

"  Not  to  the  king,"  said  the  pastor,  gently.  "  Also, 
lady,  how  will  it  be  with  their  homes  and  families — the 
hearths  that  have  given  you  such  faithful  shelter?" 

"  The  women  would  take  to  the  woods,"  readily  answered 
she;  "it  is  summer  time,  and  they  should  be  willing  to 
bear  something  for  my  sake.  I  should  grieve  indeed,"  she 
added,  "  if  my  uncle  misused  them.  They  have  been  very 
good  to  me,  but  then  they  belong  to  me.  " 

"  Ah!  lady,  put  from  you  that  hardening  belief  of  seign- 
eurs.  Think  what  their  fidelity  deserves  from  their  lady. " 

"  I  will  be  good  to  them!  I  do  love  them!  I  will  be 
their  very  good  mistress,"  said  Eustacie,  her  eyes  filling. 

"The  question  is  rather  of  forbearing  than  of  doing," 
said  the  minister. 

"  But  what  would  you  have  me  do?"  asked  Eustacie,  pet- 
ulantly. 

"  This,  lady.  I  gather  that  you  would  not  return  to 
your  relations. " 

"  Never!  never!  They  would  rend  my  babe  from  me; 
they  would  kill  her,  or  at  least  hide  her  forever  in  a  con- 
vent— they  would  force  me  into  this  abhorrent  marriage. 
No — no — no — my  child  and  I  would  die  a  hundred  deaths 
together  rather  than  fall  into  the  hands  of  Narcisse.'^ 

"  Calm  yourself,  lady;  there  is  no  present  fear,  but  I 
deem  that  the  safest  course  for  the  little  one  would  be  to 
place  her  in  England.  She  must  be  heiress  to  lands  and 
estates  there;  is  she  not?" 

"  Yes;  and  in  Normandy."' 

"  And  your  husband's  mother  lives?  Wherefore  then 
ghould  you  not  take  me  for  your  guide,  and  make  your 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  197 

Wiiy — more  secretly  than  would  be  jDOssible  with  a  peasant 
escort — to  one  of  our  Huguenot  tovviis  on  the  coast,  wlicuco 
you  could  escape  with  the  child  to  Englaud?" 

^' My  beUe-mere  has  re-married!  She  has  children!  I 
would  not  bring  the  daughter  of  Kibaumont  as  a  suppliant 
to  be  scorned!"  said  Eustacie,  jDOuting.  "  She  has  lands 
enough  of  her  own. " 

*'  There  is  no  need  to  discuss  the  question  now,"  said 
M.  Gardon,  gravely;  for  a  most  kind  offer,  involving  much 
peril  and  inconvenience  to  himself,  was  thus  j^etulantly 
flouted.  "  Madame  will  think  at  her  leisure  of  what  would 
have  been  the  wishes  of  Monsieur  le  Baron  for  his  child. " 

He  then  held  himself  aloof,  knowing  that  it  was  not  well 
for  her  health,  mental  or  bodily,  to  talk  any  more,  and  a 
good  deal  perplexed  himself  by  the  moods  of  his  strange 
little  impetuous  convert,  if  convert  she  could  be  termed. 
He  himself  was  a  deeply  learned  scholar,  who  had  studied 
all  the  bearings  of  the  controversy;  and,  though  bound  to 
the  French  Huguenots  by  long  service  and  persecution  in 
their  cause,  he  belonged  to  that  class  of  the  French  Ee- 
formers  who  would  gladly  have  come  to  terms  with  the 
Catholics  at  the  Conference  of  Plassy,  and  regretted  the 
more  decided  Calvinism  that  his  party  had  since  professed, 
and  in  which  the  Day  of  St.  Bartholomew  confirmed  them. 
He  had  a  strong  sense  of  the  grievous  losses  they  suffered 
by  their  disunion  from  the  Church.  The  Reformed  were 
less  and  less  what  his  ardent  youthful  hopes  had  trusted  to 
see  them;  and  in  his  old  age  he  was  a  sorrow-stricken  man, 
as  much  for  the  cause  of  religion  as  for  personal  bereave- 
ments. He  had  little  desire  to  win  proselytes,  but  rather 
laid  his  hand  to  build  up  true  religion  where  he  found  it 
suffering  shocks  in  these  unsettled,  neglected  times;  and 
his  present  wish  was  rather  to  form  and  guide  this  little 
willful  warm-hearted  mother — whom  he  could  not  help 
regarding  with  as  much  affection  as  pity — to  find  a  home 
in  the  Church  that  had  been  her  husband's,  than  to  gain 
her  to  his  own  party.  And  most  assuredly  he  would  never 
let  her  involve  herself,  as  she  was  ready  to  do,  in  the  civil 
war,  without  even  knowing  the  doctrine  which  grave  and 
earnest  men  had  preferred  to  their  loyalty. 

He  could  hear  her  murmuring  to  her  baby,  "  No,  no, 
little  one,  we  are  not  fallen  so  low  as  to  beg  our  breail 
among  strangers. "    To  live   upon  her  own  vassals  had 


198  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS. 

seemed  to  her  only  claiming  lier  just  rights,  bnt  it  galled 
her  to  think  of  being  beholden  to  stranger  Huguenots;  and 
England  and  her  mother-in-law,  without  Berenger,  were 
utterly  foreign  and  distasteful  to  her. 

Her  mood  was  variable.  Messages  from  Blaise  and  Mar- 
tin came  and  went,  and  it  became  known  that  her  intended 
shelter  at  Chollet,  together  with  all  the  adjacent  houses, 
had  been  closely  searched  by  the  younger  Kibaumont  in 
conjuiiction  with  the  governor;  so  that  it  was  j^lain  that 
some  treachery  must  exist,  and  that  she  only  owed  her 
present  freedom  to  her  detention  in  the  ruined  temple;  and 
it  would  be  necessary  to  leave  that  as  soon  as  it  was  possible 
for  her  to  attempt  the  journey. 

The  plan  that  seemed  most  feasible  to  the  vassals  was, 
that  Rotrou  should  convey  her  in  a  cart  of  fagots  as  far  as 
IDOssJble  on  the  road  to  Paris;  that  there  his  men  should 
meet  her  by  different  roads,  ridiug  their  farm-horses — and 
Martin  even  hoped  to  be  able  to  convey  her  own  palfrey  to 
her  from  the  monastery  stables;  and  thence,  taking  a  long 
stretch  across  country,  they  trusted  to  be  able  to  reach  the 
lands  of  a  dej)endaut  of  the  house  of  Montmorency,  who 
would  not  readily  yield  her  up  to  a  Guise's  man.  But, 
whether  instigated  by  Perrine,  or  by  their  own  judgment, 
the  vassals  declared  that,  though  madame  should  be  con- 
ducted wherever  she  desired,  it  was  impossible  to  encumber 
themselves  with  the  infant.  Concealment  would  be  impos- 
sible; rough,  hasty  rides  would  be  retarded,  her  difficulties 
would  be  tenfold  increased,  and  the  little  one  would  be- 
come a  means  of  tracing  her.  There  was  no  choice  but  to 
leave  it  with  Simoneite. 

Angrily  and  haughtily  did  Eustacie  always  reject  this 
alternative,  and  send  fresh  commands  back  by  her  messen- 
ger, to  meet  the  same  reply  in  another  form.  The  strong 
will  and  maternal  instinct  of  the  lady  was  set  against  the 
shrewd,  j^ractical  resolution  of  the  stout  farmers,  who  were 
about  to  make  a  terrible  venture  for  her  and  might  reason- 
ably think  they  had  a  right  to  prescribe  the  terms  that 
they  thought  best.  All  this  time  Maitre  Garden  felt  it  im- 
possible to  leave  her,  still  weak  and  convalescent,  alone  in 
the  desolate  ruin  with  her  young  child;  though  still  her 
pride  would  not  bend  again  to  seek  the  counsel  that  she 
had  so  much  detested,  nor  to  ask  for  the  instruction  that 
was  to  make  her  "  believe  like  her  husband. "  If  she  might 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  199 

not  fight  for  the  Reformed,  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  none 
of  their  doctrine! 

But,  true  lady  that  she  was,  she  sunk  the  differences  in 
her  intercourse  with  him.  She  was  always  prettily  and 
affectionately  grateful  for  every  service  that  he  rendered 
her,  and  as  graciously  polite  as  though  she  had  been  keep- 
ing house  in  the  halls  of  Kibaumont.  Then  her  intense 
love  for  her  child  was  so  beautiful,  and  there  was  so  much 
Bweetness  in  the  cheerful  jiatience  with  which  she  endured 
the  many  hardships  of  her  situation,  that  he  could  not  help 
being  strongly  interested  in  the  willful,  spirited  little  being. 

And  thus  time  passed,  until  one  night,  when  Martin  vent- 
ured over  to  the  farm  with  a  report  so  serious  that  Ilotrou, 
at  all  risks,  brought  him  uji  to  communicate  his  own  tid- 
ings. Some  one  had  given  information,  Veronique  he  sus- 
pected, and  the  two  chevaliers  were  certainly  coming  the 
next  day  to  search  with  fire  the  old  buildings  of  the  tem- 
le.  It  was  already  daAvning  toward  morning,  and  it  would 
e  impossible  to  do  more  at  present  than  to  let  Eotrou 
build  up  the  lady  in  a  vault,  some  little  way  off,  whence, 
after  the  search  was  over,  she  could  be  released,  and  join 
her  vassals  the  next  night  according  to  the  original  design. 

As  to  the  child,  her  presence  in  the  vault  was  impossible, 
and  Martin  had  actually  brought  her  intended  nurse, 
Simonette,  to  Rotrou's  cottage  to  receive  her. 

"  Never  P'  was  all  Eustacie  answered.  "Save  both  of 
us,  or  neither." 

"  Lady,''  said  M.  Gardon  as  she  looked  toward  him,  "  I 
go  my  way  with  my  staff. " 

"  And  you — you  more  faithful  than  her  vassals — will  let 
me  take  her?" 

"  Assuredly. " 

*'  Then,  sir,  even  to  the  world's  end  will  I  go  with  you." 

Martin  would  have  argued,  have  asked,  but  she  would 
not  listen  to  him.  It  was  Maitre  Gardon  who  made  him 
understand  the  project.  There  was  what  in  later  times  has 
been  termeil  an  underground  railway  amid  the  persecuted 
Calvinists,  and  M.  Gardon  knew  his  ground  well  enough  to 
have  little  doubt  of  being  able  to  conduct  the  lady  safely  to 
some  town  on  the  coast,  whence  she  might  reach  her  friends 
in  England.  The  plan  highly  satisfied  Martin.  It  relieved 
him  and  his  neighbors  from  the  necessity  of  provoking 
perilous  wrath,  and  it  was  far  safer  for  herself  than  en- 


2(>0  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

deavoring  to  force  her  way  with  an  escort  too  large  not  to 
attract  notice,  yet  not  warhke  enough  for  efficient  defense. 
He  offered  no  further  opposition,  but  augured  that  after 
all  she  would  come  back  a  fine  lady,  and  right  them  all. 

Eustacie,  recovering  from  her  auger,  and  recollecting 
his  services,  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  and  bade  him  fare- 
well with  a  sudden  effusion  of  gratitude  and  affection  that 
warmed  the  honest  fellow's  heart.  Rewards  could  not  be 
given,  lest  they  should  become  a  clew  for  her  uncle;  and 
perhaps  they  would  have  wounded  both  him  and  their  kind 
hosts,  who  did  their  best  to  assist  her  in  their  departure. 
A  hasty  meal  was  provided  by  ISTanon,  and  a  basket  so 
stored  as  to  obviate  the  need  of  entering  a  village,  on  that 
day  at  least,  to  purchase  provisions;  Eustacie 's  money  and 
jewels  again  formed  the  nucleus  of  tlie  bundle  of  clothes 
and  spare  swaddling-bands  of  her  babe;  her  peasant  dress 
was  carefully  arranged — a  stout  striped  cloth  skirt  and 
black  bodice,  the  latter  covered  by  a  scarlet  Chollet  ker- 
chief. The  winged  white  cap  entirely  hid  her  hair;  a  gray 
cloak  with  a  hood  could  either  fold  round  her  and  her  child 
or  be  strapped  on  her  shoulders.  Her  sabots  were  hung  on 
her  shoulder,  for  she  had  learned  to  go  barefoot,  and 
walked  much  more  lightly  thus;  and  her  little  bundle  was 
slung  on  a  staff  on  the  back  of  Maitre  Garden,  who  in  his 
great  peasant's  hat  and  coat  looked  so  like  a  picture  of  St. 
Joseph,  that  Eustacie,  as  the  light  of  the  rising  sun  fell  on 
his  white  beard  and  hair,  was  reminded  of  the  Flight  into 
Egypt,  and  came  close  to  him,  saying  shyly,  "  Our  Blessed 
Lady  will  bless  and  feel  for  my  baby.  She  knows  what 
this  journey  is." 

"  The  Son  of  the  Blessed  Mary  assuredly  knows  and 
blesses,"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LA   RUE   DES   TROIS   PEES. 

And  round  the  baby  fast  and  close 

Her  trembling  grasp  she  folds, 
And  with  a  strong  convulsive  grasp 

The  little  infant  holds. 

SOTJTHKY. 

A  WILD  storm  had  raged  all  the  afternoon,  hail  and  rain 
had  careered   on  the  wings  of  the  wind  along  the  narrow 


Eustacie  was  reminded  of  the  flight  into  Egypt."         Page  300. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  20l 

street  of  tli3  Three  Fairies,  at  the  little  Huguenot  boarg  of 
La  Sablerie;  torrents  of  rain  had  ijoaclied  the  unpaved  soil 
into  a  depth  of  mud,  and  thunder  had  reverberated  over  the 
chimnej-tops,  and  growled  far  away  over  the  Atlantic, 
whose  angry  waves  were  tossing  on  the  low  sandy  coast 
about  two  miles  from  the  town. 

The  evening  had  closed  hi  with  a  chill,  misty  drizzle, 
and,  almost  May  though  it  were,  the  Widow  Noemi  Lau- 
rent gladly  closed  the  shutters  of  her  unglazed  window, 
where  small  cakes  and  other  delicate  confections  were  dis- 
played, and  felt  the  genial  warmth  of  the  little  fire  with 
which  she  heated  her  tiny  oven.  She  was  the  widow  of  a 
pastor  who  had  suffered  for  his  faith  in  the  last  open  2)erse- 
cution,  and  being  the  daughter  of  a  baker,  the  authorities 
of  the  town  had  permitted  her  to  support  herself  and  her 
son  by  carr}ang  on  a  trade  in  the  more  delicate  "subtil- 
ties  "  of  the  art,  which  were  greatly  relished  at  the  civic 
feasts.  Noemi  was  a  grave,  sad  woman,  very  lonely  ever 
since  she  had  saved  enough  to  send  her  son  to  study  for 
the  ministry  in  Switzerland,  and  with  an  aching  heart  that 
longed  to  be  at  rest  from  the  toil  that  she  looked  on  as  a 
steep  ladder  on  her  way  to  a  better  home.  She  occupied 
two  tiny  rooms  on  the  gronnd-floor  of  a  tall  house;  and  she 
had  just  arranged  her  few  articles  of  furniture  with  the 
utmost  neatness,  when  there  was  a  low  knock  at  her  door, 
a  kn6ck  that  the  persecuted  well  understood,  and  as  she 
lifted  the  latch,  a  voice  she  had  known  of  old  spoke  the 
scriptural  salutation,  "  Peace  be  with  this  house.'' 

"'  Wi  qnoi,  Master  Isaac,  is  it  thou?  Come  in — in  a  good 
hour— ah!" 

As,  dripping  all  round  his  broad  hat  and  from  every 
thread  of  his  gray  mantle,  the  aged  traveler  drew  into  tho 
house  a  female  figure  whom  he  had  been  supporting  on  his 
other  arm,  muffled  head  and  shoulders  in  a  soaked  cloak, 
with  a  petticoat  streaming  with  wet,  and  fee^-  and  ankles 
covered  with  mire,  "  Here  we  are,  my  chiki,"  he  said  ten- 
derly, as  he  almost  carried  her  to  Noemi's  chair.  Noemi, 
with  kind  exclamations  of  ^'  La  pauvrc !  la  'pauvrette  P ' 
helped  the  trembling  cold  hand  to  open  the  wet  cloak,  and 
then  cried  out  with  fresh  surprise  and  pity  at  the  sight  of 
the  fresh  little  infant  face,  nestled  warm  and  snug  under 
all  the  wrappings  in  those  weary  arms. 

"  See,"  said  the  poor  wanderer,  looking  up  to  the  old 


202  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

man,  with  a  faint  smile;  "  she  is  well — she  is  wai'm — it 
harts  her  not." 

"  Can  you  take  us  in?''  added  M.  Gardon,  hastily; 
"  have  you  room?'^ 

"  Oh,  yes;  if  you  can  sleep  on  the  floor  here,  I  will  take 
this  poor  dear  to  my  own  bed  directly,"  said  Noemi. 
"  Tenez,"  opening  a  chest;  "you  will  find  dry  clothes 
there,  of  my  husband's.  And  thou,"  helping  Eustacie  up 
with  her  strong  arm,  and  trying  to  take  the  little  one, 
*'  let  me  warm  and  dry  thee  within. " 

Too  much  worn  out  to  make  resistance,  almost  past 
speaking,  knowing  merely  that  she  had  reached  the  goal 
that  had  been  promised  her  throughout  these  weary  days, 
feeling  warmth,  and  hearing  kind  tones,  Eustacie  submitted 
to  be  led  into  the  inner  room;  and  when  the  good  widow 
returned  again,  it  was  in  haste  to  fetch  some  of  the  warm 
fotiuje  she  had  already  been  cooking  over  the  fire,  and 
hastily  bade  M.  Garden  help  himself  to  the  rest.  She  came 
back  again  with  the  babe,  to  wash  and  dress  it  in  the 
warmth  of  her  oven  fire.  Maitre  Garden,  in  the  black  suit 
of  a  Calvinist  pastor,  had  eaten  his  potagc,  and  was  anx- 
iously awaiting  her  report.  Ah!  la pauvre,  with  His  bless- 
ing she  will  sleep;  she  will  do  well.  But  how  far  did  you 
come  to-day?'^ 

"  From  Sainte  Lucie.  From  the  Grange  du  Temple 
since  Monday. " 

"Ah!  is  it  possible?  The  poor  child!  And  this  little 
one — sure,  it  is  scarce  four  weeks  old?" 

*'  Four  weeks  this  coming  Sunday." 

"Ah!  the  poor  thing.  The  blessing  of  Heaven  must 
have  been  with  you  to  bear  her  through.  And  what  a 
lovely  infant — how  white — what  beauteous  little  limbs! 
Truly,  she  has  sped  well.  Little  did  I  think,  good  friend,  ■ 
that  you  had  this  comfort  left,  or  that  our  poor  Theodore's 
young  wife  had  escaped." 

"  Alas!  no,  Noemi;  this  is  no  child  of  Theodore's.  His 
wi^e  shared  his  martyrdom.  It  is  I  who  am  escaped  alone 
to  tell  thee.  But,  nevertheless,  this  babe  is  an  orphan  of 
that  same  day.  Her  father  was  the  son  of  the  pious  Baron 
de  Ribaumont,  the  patron  of  your  husband,  and  of  myself 
in  earlier  days. ' ' 

''Ah!"  exclaimed  Noemi,  startled.      "Then  the  poor 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  203 

young  mother — is  she — can  she  he  the  lost  Demoiselle  cle 
Nid-de-Merle?" 

"  Is  the  thing  known  here?  The  will  of  Heaven  be  clone; 
but  I  had  trusted  that  here  the  poor  child  might  rest  a 
while,  ere  she  can  send  to  her  husband's  kindred  in  Eng- 
land/' 

"  She  might  rest  safely  enough,  if  others  beside  myself 
believed  in  her  being  your  son's  widow/'  said  Neomi. 
'■  Wherefore  should  she  not  be  thought  so?" 

"  Poor  EsjDerance !  She  would  willingly  have  lent  her 
name  to  guard  another,"  said  Master  Gardon,  thought- 
fully; "  and,  for  the  sake  of  the  child,  my  little  lady  may 
endure  it.  Ah!  there  is  the  making  of  a  faithful  and  noble 
woman  in  that  poor  young  thing.  Bravely,  patiently, 
cheerfully,  hath  she  plodded  this  weary  way;  and,  verily, 
she  hath  grown  like  my  own  daughter  to  me — as  I  never 
thought  to  love  earthly  thing  again ;  and  had  this  been  in- 
deed my  Theodore's  child,  I  could  hardly  care  for  it  more. " 

And  as  he  related  how  he  had  fallen  in  with  the  forlorn 
Lady  of  Eibaumont,  and  all  that  she  had  dared,  done,  and 
left  undone  for  the  sake  of  her  little  daughter,  good  Noemi 
Laurent  wept,  and  agreed  with  him  that  a  special  Provi- 
dence must  have  directed  them  to  his  care,  and  that  some 
good  work  must  await  one  Avho  had  been  carried  through 
so  much.  His  project  was  to  remain  here  for  a  short  time, 
to  visit  the  flock  who  had  lost  their  pastor  on  the  day  of 
the  massacre,  and  to  recruit  his  own  strength;  for  he,  too, 
had  suffered  severely  from  the  long  traveling,  and  the  ex- 
posure during  many  nights,  especially  since  all  that  was 
warm  and  sheltered  had  been  devoted  to  Eustacie.  And 
after  this  he  projDOsed  to  go  to  La.Rochelle,  and  make  in- 
quiries for  a  trusty  messenger  who  could  be  sent  to  Eng- 
land to  seek  out  the  family  of  the  Baron  de  Eibaumont,  or, 
mayhap,  a  sufficient  escort  with  whom  the  lady  could  travel 
though  he  had  nearly  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not 
relinquish  the  care  of  her  until  he  had  safely  delivered  her 
to  her  husband's  mother. 

Health  and  life  were  very  vigorous  in  Eustacie;  and 
though  at  first  she  had  been  completely  worn  out,  a  few 
days  of  comfort,  entire  rest,  and  good  nursing  restored  her. 
Noemi  dressed  her  much  like  herself,  in  a  black  gown, 
prim  little  white  starched  ruff,  and  white  cap — a  thorough 
Calviuist  dress,  and  befitting  a  minister's  widow.    Eustacie 


304  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

winced  a  little  at  hearing  of  the  character  that  had  been 
fastened  upon  her;  she  disliked  for  her  child,  still  more 
than  for  herself,  to  take  this  boiiraeois  name  oi  Garden; 
but  there  was  no  help  for  it,  since,  though  the  chief  iier- 
sonages  of  the  town  were  Huguenot,  there  could  be  no  safety 
for  her  if  the  report  were  once  allowed  to  arise  that  the  Ba- 
ronne  de  Eibauniont  had  taken  refuge  there. 

It  was  best  tliat  she  should  be  as  little  noticed  as  possible; 
nor,  indeed,  had  good  Noemi  many  visitors.  The  sad  and 
sorrowful  woman  had  always  shut  herself  up  with  her 
Bible  and  her  meditations,  and  sought  no  sym2iathy  from 
her  neighbors,  nor  encouraged  gossip  in  her  shop.  In  the 
first  days,  when  purchasers  lingered  to  ask  if  it  were  true 
that  Maitre  Gardon  had  brought  his  daughter-in-law  and 
grandchild,  her  stern-faced,  almost  grim  answer,  that 
"  la  pmivre  was  ill  at  ease,"  silenced  them,  and  forced 
them  to  carry  off  their  curiosity  unsatisfied;  but  it  became 
less  easy  to  arrange  when  Eustacie  herself  was  on  foot 
again — refreshed,  active,  and  with  an  irrepressible  spring 
of  energy  and  eagerness  that  could  hardly  be  caged  down 
in  the  Widow  Laurent^s  tiny  rooms.  Poor  child,  had  she 
not  been  ill  and  prostrate  at  first,  and  fastened  herself  on 
the  tender  side  of  the  good  woman's  heart  by  the  sweet- 
ness of  an  unselfish  and  buoyant  nature  in  illness,  Noemi 
could  hardly  have  endured  such  an  inmate,  not  even  half 
a  Huguenot,  full  of  little  Catholic  observances  like  second 
nature  to  her;  listening  indeed  to  the  Bible  for  a  short 
time,  but  always,  when  it  was  expounded,  either  asleep,  or 
finding  some  amusement  indispensable  for  her  baby;  eager 
for  the  least  variety,  and  above  all  sj^oiled  by  Maitre  Gar- 
don to  a  degree  absolutely  j^erplexing  to  the  grave  woman. 

He  would  not  bid  her  lay  aside  the  observances  that,  to 
Noemi,  seemed  almost  worship  of  the  beast.  He  rather  re- 
verted to  the  piety  which  originated  them;  and  argued  with 
his  old  friend  that  it  was  better  to  build  than  to  destroy, 
and  that,  before  the  fabric  of  truth,  superstition  would 
crumble  away  of  itself.  The  little  he  taught  her  sounded 
to  Noemi's  puzzled  ears  mere  Christianity  instead  of  con- 
troversial Calvinism.  And,  moieover,  he  never  blamed 
her  for  wicked  worldliness  Mhen  she  yawned;  but  even  de- 
vised opportmiities  for  taking  her  out  for  a  walk,  to  see  as 
much  life  as  might  be  on  a  market-day.  He  could  certainly 
not  forget — as  much  as  would  have  been  prudent — that 


"  Berenger  carried  the  little  one  to  the  ruined  high  altar,  and  there  knelt, 
holding  Eustacie  by  the  hand,  the  child  on  one  arm,  he  spoke  a  few  words  of 
solemn  thanks  and  prayer,"  Page  204. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  205 

she  was  a  high-born  lady;  and  even  seemed  taken  aback 
when  he  found  her  with  her  sleeves  turned  up  over  her 
shapely  delicate  arms,  and  a  thick  apron  before  her,  with 
her  hands  in  Veuve  Laurent's  flour,  showing  her  some  of 
those  special  mysterious  arts  of  confectionery  in  which  she 
had  been  initated  by  Soeur  Bernardine,  when,  not  three 
years  ago,  she  had  been  the  pet  of  the  convent  at  Bellaise. 
At  first  it  was  half  sport  and  the  desire  of  occupation,  but 
the  produce  of  her  manipulations  was  so  excellent  as  to  ex- 
cite quite  a  sensation  in  La  »Sablerie,  and  the  echevins  and 
baillis  sent  in  quite  considerable  orders  for  the  cakes  and 
patties  of  Maitre  Garden's  Paris-bred  daughter-in-law. 

Maitre  Gardon  hesitated.  Noemi  Laurent  told  him  she 
cared  little  for  the  gain — Heaven  knew  it  was  nothing  to 
her — but  that  she  thought  it  wrong  and  inconsistent  in  him 
to  wish  to  spare  the  poor  child's  pride,  wdiich  was  uncliris- 
tian  enough  already.  "  Nay,"  he  said  sadly,  "  mortifica- 
tions from  without  do  little  to  tame  pride;  nor  did  I  mean 
to  bring  her  here  that  she  should  turn  cook  and  confec- 
tioner to  pamper  the  appetite  of  Bailli  La  Grasse." 

But  Eustacie's  first  view  was  a  bright  i:)leasure  in  the  tri- 
umph of  her  skill;  and  when  her  considerate  guardian  en- 
deavored to  impress  on  her  that  there  was  no  necessity  for 
vexing  herself  with  the  task,  she  turned  round  on  him  with 
the  exclamation,  "  Nay,  dear  father,  do  you  not  see  it  is 
my  great  satisfaction  to  be  able  to  do  something  for  our 
good  hostess,  so  that  my  daughter  and  I  be  not  a  burden  to 
her?" 

"  Well  spoken,  my  lady,"  said  the  pastor;  "  there  is  real 
nobility  in  that  way  of  thinking.  \et,  remember,  Noemi 
is  not  without  means;  she  feels  not  the  burden.  And  the 
flock  contribute  enough  for  the  shejaherd's  support,  and 
yours  likewise. " 

"  Then  let  her  give  it  to  the  poor  creatures  who  so  often 
come  in  begging,  and  sa3'ing  they  have  been  burned  out  of 
house  and  home  by  one  party  or  the  other,"  said  Eustacie. 
"  Let  me  have  my  Avay,  dear  sir;  Soeur  Bernardine  always 
said  I  should  be  a  prime  Dienagere.     I  like  it  so  much. " 

And  Mme.  de  Eibaumont  mixed  sugar  and  dough,  and 
twisted  quaint  shapes,  and  felt  important  and  almost  light- 
hearted,  and  sung  over  her  work  and  over  her  child  songs 
that  were  not  always  Marot's  psalms;  and  that  gave  the 
more  umbrage  to  Noemi,  because  she  feared  that  Maitre 


206  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

Gardon  actually  liked  to  hear  them,  though;,  should  their 
echo  reach  the  street,  why  it  would  be  a  peril,  and  still 
worse,  a  horrible  scandal  that  out  of  that  sober,  afflicted 
household  should  proceed  profane  tunes  such  as  court  ladies 
sung. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   ABBE. 

By  day  and  night  her  sorrows  fall 

Where  miscreant  hands  and  rude 
Have  stained  her  pure,  ethereal  pall 

"With  many  a  martyr's  blood. 
And  yearns  not  her  maternal  heart 

To  hear  their  secret  sighs, 
Upon  whose  doul)ting  way  apart 

Bewildering  shadows  rise? 

Keble. 

It  was  in  the  summer  twilight  that  Eustacie,  sitting  on 
the  doorstep  between  the  two  rooms,  with  her  baby  on  her 
knees,  was  dreamily  humming  to  her  a  tune,  without  even 
words,  but  one  that  she  lovetl,  because  she  had  first  learned 
to  sing  it  with  Berenger  and  his  friend  Sidney  to  the  lute  of 
the  latter;  and  its  notes  always  brought  before  her  eyes  the 
woods  of  Montpipeau,  Then  it  was  that,  low  and  soft  as 
was  the  voice,  that  Ijefell  which  Noemi  had  feared:  a  worn, 
ragged-looking  young  man,  who  had  been  bargaining  at  the 
door  for  a  morsel  of  bread  in  exchange  for  a  handkerchief, 
started  at  the  sound,  and  moved  so  as  to  look  into  the 
house. 

Noemi  was  at  the  moment  not  attending,  being  absorbed 
in  the  study  of  the  handkerchief,  which  was  of  such  fine, 
delicate  texture  that  an  idea  of  its  having  been  stolen 
l^ossessed  her;  and  she  sought  the  corner  where,  as  she  ex- 
pected, a  coat  of  arms  was  embroidered.  Just  as  she  was 
looking  up  to  demand  explanation,  the  stranger,  with  a 
sudden  cry  of  "  Good  heavens,  it  is  she!"  jiushed  past  her 
into  the  house,  and  falling  on  his  knee  before  Eustacie,  ex- 
claimed, "  0  lady,  lady!  is  it  thus  that  I  see  you?'' 

Eustacie  had  started  up  in  dismay,  crying  out,  "  Ah  I 
Monsieur  TAbbe,  as  you  are  a  gentleman,  betray  me  not. 
Oh!  have  they  sent  you  to  find  me?  Have  pity  on  us!  YoE 
loved  my  husband!" 


THE    CHArLET    OF    PEARLS.  207 

"You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me,  lady/' said  the 
young  man,  still  kneeling;  "  if  you  are  indeed  a  distressed 
fugitive — so  am  I.  If  you  have  shelter  and  friends — I  have 
none. " 

"  Is  it  indeed  so?"  said  Enstacie,  wistfully,  yet  scarce 
reassured.  "  You  are  truly  not  come  from  my  uncle.  In- 
deed, monsieur,  I  would  not  doubt  you,  but  you  see  I  have 
so  much  at  stake.  I  have  my  little  one  here,  and  they  mean 
so  cruelly  by  her. " 

''  Madame,  I  swear  by  the  honor  of  a  nobleman — nay, 
by  all  that  is  sacred — that  I  know  nothing  of  your  uncle. 
I  have  been  a  wanderer  for  many  weeks  past;  proscribed 
and  hunted  down  because  I  wished  to  seek  into  the  truth." 

"Ah!"  said  Eustacie,  with  a  sound  of  relief,  and  of 
apology,  "  j)ardon  me,  sir;  indeed,  I  know  you  were  good. 
You  loved  my  husband;"  and  she  reached  out  her  hand  to 
raise  him,  when  he  kissed  it  reverently.  Little  bonrgeoise 
and  worn  mendicant  as  they  were  in  dress,  the  air  of  the 
Louvre  breathed  round  them;  and  there  was  all  its  grace 
and  dignity  as  the  lady  turned  round  to  her  astonished 
hosts,  saying,  "  Good  sir,  kind  mother,  this  gentleman  is, 
indeed,  what  you  took  me  for,  a  fugitive  for  the  truth. 
Permit  me  to  present  to  you  Monsieur  I'Abbe  de  Mericour 
— at  least,  so  he  was,  when  last  I  had  the  honor  to  see  him. " 

The  last  time  he  had  seen  her,  poor  Eustacie  had  been 
inca23able  of  seeing  anything  save  that  bloody  pool  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

Mericour  now  turned  and  explained.  "Good  friends," 
he  said  courteously,  but  with  the  fierete  of  the  noble  not 
quite  out  of  his  tone,  "  I  beg  your  grace.  I  would  not  have 
used  so  little  ceremony,  if  I  had  not  been  out  of  myself  at 
recognizing  a  voice  and  a  tune  that  could  belong  to  none 
but  Madame — " 

"  Sit  down,  sii,"  said  Noemi,  a  little  coldly  and  stiffly — ■ 
for  Mericour  was  a  terrible  name  to  Huguenot  ears;  "  a 
true  friend  to  this  lady  must  needs  be  welcome,  above  all  if 
he  comes  in  Heaven's  name. " 

"  Sit  down  and  eat,  sir,"  added  Gardon,  much  more 
heartily;  "  and  forgive  us  for  not  having  been  more  hos- 
pitable— but  the  times  have  taught  us  to  be  cautious,  and 
m  that  lady  we  have  a  precious  charge.  Eest;  for  you  look 
both  weary  and  hungry." 

Eustacie   added  an  invitation,  understanding    that    he 


208  THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEA  ELS. 

would  not  sit  without  her  2:)er mission,  and  then,  as  he 
dropped  into  a  chair,  she  exchiimed,  "Ah!  sir,  you  are 
faint,  but  you  are  famished.'^ 

"  It  will  pass,'^  he  said;  "  I  have  not  eaten  to-day/' 

Instantly  a  meal  was  set  before  him,  and  ere  long  he  re- 
vived; and  as  the  shutters  were  closed,  and  shelter  for  the 
night  promised  to  him  by  a  Huguenot  family  lodging  in  the 
same  house,  he  began  to  answer  Eustacie^'s  anxious  ques- 
tions, as  well  as  to  learn  from  her  in  return  what  had 
brought  her  into  her  present  situation. 

Tiien  it  was  that  she  recollected  that  it  had  been  he  who, 
at  her  cousin  Diane's  call,  had  seized  her  when  she  was 
rushing  out  of  the  palace  in  her  first  frenzy  of  grief,  and 
had  carried  her  back  to  the  women's  apartments. 

"  It  was  that  day  which  brought  me  here,"  he  said. 

And  he  told  how,  bred  up  in  his  own  distant  province,  by 
a  pious  and  excellent  tutoi-,  he  had  devoutly  believed  in  the 
extreme  wickedness  of  the  Reformers;  but  in  his  seclusion 
he  had  been  trained  to  such  purity  of  faith  and  morals, 
that,  when  his  brother  summoiied  him  to  court  to  solicit  a 
benefice,  he  had  been  appalled  at  the  aspect  of  vice,  and 
had,  at  the  same  time,  been  struck  by  the  pure  lives  of  the 
Huguenots;  for  truly,  as  things  then  were  at  the  French 
court,  crime  seemed  to  have  arrayed  itself  on  the  side  of 
the  orthodox  party,  all  virtue  on  that  of  the  schismatics. 

De  Mericour  consulted  spiritual  advisers,  who  told  him 
that  none  but  Catholics  could  be  truly  holy,  and  that  what 
he  admired  were  merely  heathen  virtues  that  the  devil  per- 
mitted the  Huguenots  to  display  in  order  to  delude  the  un- 
wary. With  this  explanation  he  had  striven  to  be  satisfied, 
though  eyes  unbhuded  by  guilt  and  a  pure  heart  continued 
to  be  revolted  at  the  practices  which  his  Church,  scared  at 
the  evil  times,  and  forgetful  of  her  own  true  strength,  left 
undenounced  in  her  jmrtisans.  And  the  more  that  the 
Huguenot  gentlemen  thronged  the  court,  and  the  young 
abbe  was  thrown  into  intercourse  with  them,  the  mwe  he 
perplexed  himself  how  the  truth,  the  faith,  the  uprightness, 
the  forbearance,  the  23urity  that  they  evinced,  could  indeed 
be  wanting  in  the  zeal  that  made  them  acceptable.  Then 
came  the  frightful  morning  when  carnage  reigned  in  every 
street,  and  the  men  who  had  been  treated  as  favorite  boon 
companions  were  hunted  down  like  wild  beasts  in  every 
street.     He  had  endeavored  to  save  life^  but  would  have 


THE    fllAPLET    OF    PEARLR.  209 

Speedily  been  sliiughtered  himself  except  for  his  soutane; 
and  in  all  good  faith  he  had  harried  to  the  Louvre,  to  in- 
form royalty  of  the  horrors  that,  as  he  thought,  a  fanatic 
passion  was  causing  the  jjopulace  to  commit. 

He  found  the  palace  become  shambles — the  king  himself, 
wrought  wp  to  frenzy,  firing  on  the  fugitives.  And  the  next 
day,  while  his  brain  still  seemed  frozen  with  horror,  he  was 
called  on  to  join  in  the  procession  of  thanksgiving  for  the 
ki ng 's  deliverance  from  a  dangerous  plot.  Surely,  if  the  j)lot 
were  genuine,  he  thought,  the  procession  should  have  savored 
of  penance  and  humiliation  rather  than  of  barbarous  exulta- 
tion! Yet  these  might  be  only  the  individual  crimes  of  the 
queen-mother,  and  of  the  Guises  seeking  to  mask  them- 
Bclves  under  the  semblance  of  zeal;  and  the  infallible  head 
of  the  visible  Church  would  disown  the  slaughter,  and  cast 
it  from  the  Church  with  loathing  as  a  blood-stained  gar- 
ment. Behold,  Eome  was  full  of  rejoicing,  and  sent  sanc- 
tion and  commendation  of  the  pious  zeal  of  the  king!  Had 
the  voice  of  Holy  Church  become  indeed  as  the  voice  of  a 
blood-hound?     Was  this  indeed  her  call? 

The  young  man,  whose  life  from  infancy  had  been 
marked  out  for  the  service  of  the  Church — so  destined  by 
his  parents  as  securing  a  wealthy  provision  for  a  younger 
son,  but  educated  by  his  good  tutor  with  more  real  sense  of 
his  obligations — felt  the  question  in  its  full  imjiort.  He  was 
under  no  vows;  he  had,  indeed,  received  the  tonsure,  but 
was  otherwise  unpledged,  and  he  was  bent  on  proving  all 
things.  The  gayeties  in  which  he  had  at  first  mingled  had 
become  abhorrent  to  him,  and  he  studied  with  the  earnest- 
ness of  a  newly  awakened  mind  in  search  of  true  light. 
The  very  fact  of  study  and  inquiry,  in  one  of  such  a  family 
as  that  of  his  brother  the  Duke  de  Mericour,  was  enough  to 
excite  suspicion  of  Huguenot  inclinations.  The  elder 
brother  tried  to  quash  the  folly  of  the  younger,  by  insisting 
on  his  sharing  the  debaucheries  which,  whether  as  jjriest  or 
monk,  or  simply  as  Christian  man,  it  would  be  his  duty  to 
abjure;  and  at  length,  by  way  of  bringing  things  to  a  test, 
insisted  on  his  making  one  of  a  party  who  were  about  to 
break  up  and  destroy  a  Huguenot  assembly.  Unable,  in 
his  present  mood,  to  endure  tlie  thought  of  further  cruelty, 
the  young  abbe  fled,  gave  secret  warning  to  the  endangered 
congregation,  and  hastened  to  the  old  castle  in  Brittany, 
where  he  had  been  brought  up,  to  pour  out  his  perplexities, 


210  THE    CHAPLET    CE    TEARLS. 

and  seek  the  counsel  of  the  good  old  chaplain  who  had  edu- 
cated him.  AVhether  the  kind,  learned,  simple-hearted 
tutor  could  have  settled  his  mind,  he  had  no  time  to  dis- 
cover, for  he  had  scarcely  unfolded  his  troubles  before  warn- 
ings came  down  that  he  had  better  secure  himself — his 
brother,  as  head  of  the  family,  had  obtained  the  royal 
assent  to  the  imprisonment  of  the  rebellious  junior,  so  as 
to  bring  him  to  a  better  mind,  and  cure  him  of  the 
Huguenot  inclinations,  which  in  the  poor  lad  were  simply 
undeveloped.  But  in  all  Catholic  eyes,  he  was  a  tainted 
man,  and  liis  almost  inevitable  course  was  to  take  refuge 
with  some  Huguenot  relations.  There  he  was  eagerly  wel- 
comed; instruction  was  poured  in  on  him;  but  as  he  showed 
a  disposition  to  inquire  and  examine,  and  needed  time  to 
look  into  what  they  taught  him,  as  one  who  feared  to  break 
his  link  with  the  Church,  and  still  longed  to  find  her  blame- 
less and  glorious,  the  righteous  nation  that  keej^eth  the 
truth,  they  turned  on  him  and  regarded  him  as  a  traitor 
and  a  spy,  who  had  come  among  them  on  false  pretenses. 

All  the  poor  lad  wanted  was  time  to  think,  time  to  ex- 
amine, time  to  consult  authorities,  living  and  dead.  The 
Catholics  called  this  treason  to  the  Church,  the  Huguenots 
called  it  halting  between  two  opinions;  and  between  them 
he  was  a  proscribed,  distrusted  vagabond,  branded  on  one 
side  as  a  recreant,  and  on  the  other  as  a  traitor.  He  had 
asked  for  a  few  months  of  quiet,  and  where  could  they  be 
had?  His  grandmother  had  been  the  daughter  of  a  Scottish 
nobleman  in  the  French  service,  and  he  had  once  seen  a 
nejjhew  of  hers  who  had  come  to  Paris  during  the  time  of 
Queen  Mary's  residence  there.  He  imagined  that  if  he  were 
once  out  of  this  distracted  land  of  France,  he  might  find 
respite  for  study,  for  which  he  longed;  and  utterly  ignorant 
of  the  real  state  of  Scotland,  he  had  determined  to  make 
his  way  to  his  kindred  there;  and  he  had  struggled  on  the 
way  to  La  Rochelle,  cheated  out  of  the  small  remains  of 
his  money,  selling  his  last  jewels  and  all  the  clothing  that 
was  not  indispensable,  and  becoming  so  utterly  unable  to 
pay  his  passage  to  England,  that  he  could  only  trust  to 
Providence  to  find  him  some  means  of  reaching  his  present 
goal. 

He  had  been  listened  to  with  kindness,  and  a  sympathy 
such  as  M.  Garden's  large  mind  enabled  him  to  bestow, 
where  his  brethren  had  been  incapable  of  comprehending 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  211 

tliat  a  man  could  sincerely  doubt  between  them  and  Eome. 
When  the  history  was  finished,  Eustacic  exchiimed,  turn- 
ing to  Maitre  Gardon,  "  Ah!  sir,  is  not  this  just  what  we 
sought?  If  this  gentleman  would  but  convey  a  letter  to 
my  mother-in-law — " 

M.  Gardon  smiled.  "  Scotland  and  England  are  by  no 
means  the  same  place,  lady,"  he  said. 

"  Whatever  this  lady  would  command,  wherever  she 
would  send  me,  I  am  at  her  service,' '  cried  the  abbe, 
fervently. 

And,  after  a  little  further  debate,  it  was  decided  that  it 
might  really  be  the  best  course,  for  him  as  well  as  for  Mme. 
de  Ribaumont,  to  become  the  bearer  of  a  letter  and  token 
from  her,  entreating  her  mother-in-law  to  notify  her  pleas- 
ure whether  she  would  bring  her  child  to  England.  She 
had  means  enough  to  advance  a  sufficient  sum  to  pay  Meri- 
cour's  passage,  and  he  accepted  it  most  jjunctiliously  as  a 
loan,  intending,  so  soon  as  her  dispatches  were  ready,  to  go 
on  to  La  Rochelle,  and  make  inquiry  for  a  sliiiJ, 

Chance,  however,  seemed  unusually  projHtious,  for  the 
next  day  there  was  an  apparition  in  the  streets  of  La  Sablerie 
of  four  or  five  weather-beaten,  rollicking-looking  men,  their 
dress  profusely  adorned  with  ribbons,  and  their  language 
full  of  strange  oaths.  They  were  well  known  at  La  Sablerie 
as  sailors  belonging  to  a  ship  of  the  fleet  of  the  Count  de 
Montgomery,  the  imfortunate  knight  whose  lance  had  caused 
the  death  of  King  Henry  IL,  and  who,  23roscribed  by  the 
mortal  hatred  of  Catherine  de  Medici,  had  become  the  ad- 
miral of  a  piratical  fleet  in  the  Calvinist  interest,  so  far 
winked  at  by  Queen  Elizabeth  that  it  had  its  head -quarters 
in  the  Channel  Islands,  and  thence  was  a  most  formidable 
foe  to  merchant  vessels  on  the  northern  and  eastern  coasts 
of  France;  and  often  indulged  in  descents  on  the  coast, 
when  the  sailors — being  in  general  the  scum  of  the  nation 
— were  ajit  to  comport  themselves  more  like  American 
buccaneers  than  like  champions  of  any  form  of  religion. 

La  Sablerie  was  a  Huguenot  town,  so  they  used  no  vio- 
lence, but  only  swaggered  about,  demanding  from  Bailli  La 
Grasse,  in  the  name  of  their  gallant  Captahi  Latouche, 
contributions  and  provisions,  and  giving  him  to  understand 
that  if  he  did  not  comply  to  the  uttermost  it  should  be  the 
worse  for  him.  Their  ship,  it  appeared,  had  been  forced  to 
put  into  the  harbor,  about  two  miles  off,  and  Maitre  Gardon 


212  THE    f'irAPLET    OF    PEAELS. 

and  the  young  abbe  decided  on  walking  tliither  to  see  it, 
and  to  have  an  interview  with  the  captain,  so  as  to  secure  a 
passage  for  Mericour  at  least.  Indeed,  Maitre  Gardon  had, 
in  consultation  with  Eustacie,  resolved,  if  he  found  things 
suitable,  to  arrange  for  their  all  going  together.  She  would 
be  far  safer  out  of  France;  and,  although  the  abbe  alone 
could  not  have  escorted  her,  yet  Maitre  Gardon  would 
gladly  have  secured  for  her  the  additional  jn-otection  of  a 
young,  strong,  and  spirited  man;  and  Eustacie,  who  was  no 
scribe,  was  absolutely  relieved  to  have  the  voyage  set  before 
her  as  an  alternative  to  the  dreadful  operation  of  compos- 
ing a  letter  to  the  helle-mere,  whom  she  had  not  seen  since 
she  had  been  seven  years  old,  and  of  whose  present  English 
name  she  had  the  most  indistinct  ideas. 

However,  the  first  sight  of  the  ship  overthrew  all  such 
ideas.  It  was  a  wretched  single-decked  vessel,  carrying  far 
more  sail  than  experienced  nautical  eyes  would  have 
deemed  safe,  and  with  no  accommodation  fit  for  a  woman 
and  child,  even  had  the  aspect  of  captaiu  or  crew  been  more 
satisfactory — for  the  ruffianly  appearance  and  language  of 
the  former  fully  rivaled  that  of  his  sailors.  It  would  have 
been  mere  madness  to  think  of  trusting  the  lady  in  such 
hands;  and,  without  a  word  to  each  other,  GJardon  and 
Mericour  resolved  to  give  no  hint  even  that  she  and  her 
jewels  were  in  La  Sablerie.  Mericour,  however,  made  his 
bargain  with  the  captain,  who  undertook  to  transport  him 
as  far  as  Guernsey,  whence  he  might  easily  make  his  way 
to  Dorsetshire,  where  M.  Gardon  knew  that  Berenger's 
English  home  had  been. 

So  Eustacie,  with  no  small  trouble  and  consideration,  in- 
dited her  letter — telling  of  her  escape,  the  birth  of  her 
daughter,  the  dangers  that  threatened  her  child — and  beg- 
ging that  its  grandmother  would  give  it  a  safe  home  in  Eng- 
land, and  love  it  for  the  sake  of  its  father.  An  answer 
would  find  her  at  the  widow  Noemi  Laurent's,  Kue  des 
Trois  Fees,  La  Sablerie.  She  could  not  bring  herself  to 
speak  of  the  name  of  Esperance  Gardon  which  had  been 
saddled  upon  her;  and  even  M.  de  Mericour  remained  in 
ignorance  of  her  bearing  this  disguise.  She  recommended 
him  to  the  kindness  of  her  mother-in-law;  and  M.  Gardon 
added  anotlier  letter  to  the  lady,  on  behalf  of  the  charge  to 
whom  he  promised  to  devote  himself  imtil  he  should  see 
them  safe  in  friendly  hands.     Both  letters  were  addressed. 


TH-E    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  ^13 

as  best  they  might  be,  between  Eustacie's  dim  comprehen- 
sion of  the  word  Thistlewood,  and  M.  Gardou's  notion  of 
spelling.  "  Jadis,  Baronne  de  Eibaumont,^'  was  the  securest 
part  of  the  direction. 

And  for  a  token,  Eustacie  looked  over  her  jewels  to  find 
one  that  would  serve  for  a  token j  but  the  only  ones  she 
knew  would  be  recognized,  were  the  brooch  that  had 
fastened  the  plume  in  Berenger's  bloody  cap,  and  the 
chaplet  of  pearls.  To  part  with  the  first,  or  to  risk  the 
second  in  the  pirate-ship,  was  impossible,  but  Eustacie  at 
last  decided  upon  detaching  the  pear-shaped  pearl  which 
was  nearest  the  clasp,  and  which  was  so  remarkable  in 
form  and  tint  that  there  was  no  doubt  of  its  being  well 
known. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

UNDER   THE   WALNUT-TREE. 

"  Mistress  Jean  was  making  the  elder-flower  wine — 
'  And  what  brings  tlie  Laird  at  sic  a  like  time?'  " 

Lady  Nairn,  The  Laird  of  Cockpen. 

Summer  was  nearly  ended,  and  Lucy  Thistlewood  was 
presiding  in  the  great  kitchen  of  the  manor-house,  standing 
under  the  latticed  window  near  the  large  oak-table,  a  white 
apron  over  her  dress,  presiding  over  the  collecting  of  elder- 
berries for  the  brew  of  household-wine  for  the  winter.  The 
maids  stood  round  her  with  an  array  of  beechen  bowls  or 
red  and  yellow  crocks,  while  barefooted,  bareheaded  chil- 
dren came  thronging  in  with  rush  or  wicker  baskets  of  the 
crimson  fruit,  which  the  maids  poui-ed  in  sanguine  cascades 
into  their  earthenware;  and  Lucy  requited  with  substantial 
slices  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  stout  homely  garments 
mostly  of  her  own  sewing. 

Lucy  was  altogether  an  inmate  of  her  father's  house. 
She  had  not  even  been  at  Hurst  Walwyn  for  many  months; 
for  her  step-mother's  reiterated  hopes  that  Berenger  would 
make  her  his  consolation  for  all  he  had  sufi'ered  from  his 
French  spouse  rendered  it  impossible  to  her  to  meet  him 
with  sisterly  luiconsciousness;  and  she  therefore  kept  out  of 
the  way,  and  made  herself  so  useful  at  home,  that  Dame 
Annora  only  wondered  how  it  had  been  possible  to  spare 
her  so  long,  and  always  wound  up  her  praises  by  saying. 


214  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

that  Berenger  would  learn  in  time  how  lucky  he  had  been 
to  lose  the  French  puppet,  and  win  the  good  English 
housewife. 

If  only  tidings  would  have  come  that  the  puppet  was  safe 
married.  That  was  the  crisis  which  all  the  family  desired 
yet  feared  for  Berenger,  since  nothing  else  they  saw  would 
so  detach  his  thoughts  from  the  past  as  to  leave  him  free  to 
begin  life  again.  The  relapse  brought  on  by  the  cruel  reply 
to  Osbert's  message  had  been  very  formidable:  he  was  long 
insensible  or  delirious,  and  then  came  a  state  of  annihilated 
thought,  then  of  frightfully  sensitive  organs,  when  light, 
sound,  movement,  or  scent  Avas  alike  agony;  and  when  he 
slowly  revived,  it  was  with  such  sunken  spirits,  that  his 
silence  was  as  much  from  depression  as  from  difficulty  of 
speech.  His  brain  was  weak,  his  limbs  feeble,  the  wound 
in  his  mouth  never  painless;  and  all  this  necessarily  added 
to  his  listless  indifference  and  weariness,  as  though  all 
youthful  hope  and  pleasure  were  extinct  in  him.  He  had 
ceased  to  refer  to  the  past.  Perhajjs  he  had  thought  it 
over,  and  seen  that  the  deferred  escape,  the  request  for  the 
pearls,  the  tryst  at  the  palace,  and  the  detention  from  the 
king's  chamber,  made  an  uglier  case  against  Eustacie 
than  he  could  endure  to  own  even  to  himself.  If  his 
heart  trusted,  his  mind  could  not  argue  out  her  defense, 
and  his  tongue  would  not  serve  him  for  discussion  with 
his  grandfather,  the  only  person  who  could  act  for  him. 
Perhaps  the  stunned  condition  of  his  mind  made  the  sus- 
pense just  within  the  bounds  of  endurance,  while  trust  in 
his  wife's  innocence  rendered  his  inability  to  come  to  her 
aid  well-nigh  intolerable;  and  doubt  of  her  seemed  both 
profanity  and  misery  unspeakable.  He  could  do  nothing. 
He  had  shot  his  only  shaft  by  sending  Landry  Osbert,  and 
had  found  that  to  endeavor  to  induce  his  grandfather  to 
use  further  measures  was  worse  than  useless,  and  was 
treated  as  mere  infatuation.  He  knew  that  all  he  had  to 
do  was  to  endeavor  for  what  patience  he  could  win  from 
Cecily's  sweet  influence  and  guidance,  and  to  wait  till 
either  certainty  should  come — that  dreadful,  miserable  cer- 
tainty that  all  looked  for,  and  his  very  helplessness  might 
be  bringing  about — or  till  he  should  regain  strength  to  be 
again  effective. 

And   miserably   slow   work   was  this  recovery.     No  one 
had   surgical   skill   to  deal   with  so  severe  a  wound  as  that 


THE    ClIAPLET    OF    t'EAJlLS.  215 

whicli  Narcisse  had  inflicted;  and  the  daily  pain  and  in- 
convenience it  caused  led  to  innumerable  drawbacks  that 
often — even  after  he  had  come  as  far  as  the  garden — 
brought  him  back  to  his  bed  in  a  dark  room,  to  blood-let- 
ting, and  to  speechlessness.  No  one  knew  much  of  his 
mind — Cecily  perhajis  the  most;  and  next  to  her,  Philip — 
who,  from  the  time  he  had  been  admitted  to  his  step-broth- 
er's presence,  had  been  most  assiduous  in  tending  him— - 
seemed  to  understand  his  least  sign,  and  to  lay  aside  all  his 
boisterous  roughness  in  his  eager  desire  to  do  him  service. 
The  lads  had  loved  each  other  from  the  moment  they  had 
met  as  children,  but  never  so  apparently  as  now,  when  all 
the  rude  horse-play  of  healthy  youths  was  over — and  one 
was  dependent,  the  other  considerate.  And  if  Berenger 
had  made  no  one  else  believe  in  Eustacie,  he  had  taught 
Philip  to  view  her  as  the  "  queen's  men  "  viewed  Mary  of 
Scotland.  Philip  had  told  Lucy  the  rough  but  wholesome 
truth,  that  "  Mother  talks  mere  folly.  Eustacie  is  no 
more  to  be  spoken  of  with  you  than  a  pheasant  with  old 
brown  Partlet;  and  Berry  waits  but  to  be  well  to  bring  her 
off  from  all  her  foes.     And  Fll  go  with  him.  •" 

It  was  on  Philip's  arm  that  Berenger  first  crept  round 
the  bowling-green,  and  with  Philip  at  his  rein  that  he  first 
endured  to  ride  along  the  avenue  on  Lord  Walwyn's  smooth- 
paced  palfrey;  and  it  was  Philip  who  interrupted  Lucy's 
household  cares  by  rushing  in  and  shouting,  "  Sister,  here  I 
I  have  wiled  him  to  ride  over  the  down,  and  he  is  sitting 
under  the  walnut-tree  quite  spent,  and  the  three  little 
wenches  are  standing  in  a  row,  weeping  like  so  many  little 
mermaids.     Come,  I  say!" 

Lucy  at  once  followed  him  through  the  house,  through 
the  deep  porch  to  the  court,  which  was  shaded  by  a  noble 
walnut-tree,  where  Sir  Marmaduke  loved  to  sit  among  his 
dogs.  There  now  sat  Berenger,  resting  against  the  trunk, 
overcome  by  the  heat  and  exertion  of  his  ride.  His  cloak 
and  hat  lay  on  the  ground ;  the  dogs  fawned  round  him, 
eager  for  the  wonted  caress,  and  his  three  little  sisters  stood 
a  little  aloof,  clinging  to  one  another  and  crying  piteously. 

It  was  their  first  sight  of  him;  and  it  seemed  to  them  as 
if  he  were  behind  a  frightful  mask.  Even  Lucy  was  not 
without  a  sensation  of  the  kind,  of  this  eff'ect  in  the  change 
from  the  girlish,  rosy  complexion  to  extreme  paleness,  on 
which  was  visible,  in  ghastly  red  and  purjjle,  the  great  scar 


216  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS. 

left  by  Narcisse^  from  the  temple  on  the  one  side  to  the  ear 
on  the  other. 

The  far  more  serious  wound  on  the  cheek  was  covered 
with  a  black  patch,  and  the  hair  had  almost  entirely  disap- 
peared from  the  head,  only  a  few  light  brown  locks  still 
hanging  round  the  neck  and  temples,  so  that  the  bald  row 
gave  a  strange  look  of  age;  and  the  disfigurement  was  ter- 
rible, enhanced  as  it  was  by  the  wasting  effect  of  nearly  a 
year  of  sickness.  Lucy  was  so  much  shocked,  that  she 
could  hardly  steady  her  voice  to  chide  the  children  for  not 
giving  a  better  welcome  to  their  brother.  They  would 
have  clung  round  her,  but  she  shook  them  off",  and  sent 
Annora  in  haste  for  her  mother ^s  fan;  while  Philip  arriv- 
ing with  a  slice  of  diet-bread  and  a  cup  of  sack,  the  one 
fanned  him,  and  the  other  fed  him  with  morsels  of  the 
cake  soaked  in  the  wine,  till  he  revived,  looked  up  with 
eyes  that  were  unchanged,  and  thanked  them  with  a  few 
faltering  words,  scarcely  intelligible  to  Lucy.  The  little 
girls  came  nearer,  and  curiously  regarded  him ;  but  when  he 
held  out  his  hand  to  his  favorite  Dolly,  she  shrunk  back  in 
reluctance. 

"  Do  not  chide  her,"  he  said  wearily.  "  May  she  never 
become  used  to  such  marks!" 

"  What,  would  you  have  her  live  among  cowards?'^  ex- 
claimed Philij^;  but  Berenger,  instead  of  answering,  looked 
up  at  the  front  of  tbe  house,  one  of  those  fine  Tudor  faf;ades 
that  seem  all  carved  timber  and  glass  lattice,  and  asked,  so 
abruptly  that  Lucy  doubted  whether  she  heard  him  aright 
— "  How  many  windows  are  there  in  this  front?" 

"  I  never  counted, '^  said  Philip. 

"I  have,"  said  Annora;  "there  are  seven-and-tliirty, 
besides  the  two  little  ones  in  the  porch." 

"  None  shall  make  them  afraid,^'  he  muttered.  "  Who 
would  dare  build  such  a  defenseless  house  over  yonder?" — 
pointing  south. 

"  Our  hearts  are  guards  now,"  said  Philip,  proudly. 
Berenger  half  smiled,  as  he  was  wont  to  do  when  he  meant 
more  than  he  could  conveniently  utter,  and  presently  he 
asked,  in  the  same  languid,  musing  tone,  "  Lucy,  were  you 
ever  really  affrighted?" 

Lucy  questioned  whether  he  could  be  really  in  his  right 
mind,  as  if  the  bewilderment  of  his  brain  was  again  return- 
ing; and  while  she  paused,  Annora  exclaimed,  "  Yes,  when 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS.  217 

we  were  gathering  cowslips,  and  tlie  brindled  cow  ran  at  us, 
and  Lucy  could  not  run  because  she  had  Dolly  in  her 
arms.  Oh!  w^e  were  frightened  then,  till  you  came, 
brother. " 

"  Yes, '^  added  Bessie;  "  und  last  winter  too,  when  the 
owl  shrieked  at  the  window — " 

"  And,'^  added  Berenger,  "  sister,  what  was  your  great- 
est time  of  revelry?' ' 

Annora  again  put  in  her  word.  "  I  know,  brother;  you 
remember  the  fair  day,  when  my  Lady  Grandame  was 
angered  because  you  and  Lucy  went  on  dancing  when  we 
and  all  the  gentry  had  ceased.  And  when  Lucy  said  she 
had  not  seen  that  you  were  left  alone.  Aunt  Cecily  said  it 
was  because  the  eyes  of  discretion  Avere  lacking. " 

"  Oh,  the  Christmas  feast  was  far  grander,"  said  Bessie. 

"  Then  Lucy  had  her  first  satin  farthingale,  and  three 
gallants,  besides  my  brother,  wanted  to  dance  with  her. " 

Blushing  deeply,  Lucy  tried  to  hush  the  little  ones,  much 
perplexed  by  the  questions,  and  confused  by  the  answers. 
Could  he  be  contrasting  the  life  where  a  vicious  cow  had 
been  the  most  alarming  object,  a  greensward  dance  with  a 
step-brother  the  greatest  gayety,  the  dye  of  the  elder  juice 
the  deepest  stain,  with  the  temptations  and  perils  that  had 
beset  one  equally  young?  Besting  his  head  on  his  hand, 
his  elbow  on  his  knee,  he  seemed  to  be  musing  iu  a  reverie 
that  he  could  hardly  brook,  as  his  young  brow  was  knitted 
by  care  and  desjjondency. 

Suddenly,  the  sounds  in  the  village  rose  from  the  quiet 
sleepy  summer  hum  into  a  fierce  yell  of  derisive  vitupera- 
tion, causing  Philip  at  once  to  leap  up,  and  run  across  the 
court  to  the  entrance-gate,  while  Lucy  called  after  him 
some  vain  sisterly  warning  against  mingling  in  a  fray. 

It  seemed  as  if  his  interposition  had  a  good  effect,  for  the 
uproar  lulled  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  hurried  to  the  scene 
of  action;  and  presently  he  reappeared,  eager  and  breath- 
less. "I  told  them  to  bring  him  up  here,''  he  said; 
"  they  would  have  flogged  him  at  the  cart's-tail,  the 
rogues,  just  because  my  father  is  out  of  the  way.  I  could 
not  make  out  his  jargon,  but  you  can,  brother;  and  make 
that  rascal  Spinks  let  him  go. " 

"What  should  I  have  to  do  with  it?"  said  Berenger, 
shrinking  from  the  sudden  exj^osure  of  his  scarred  face  and 
maimed  speech.     "  I  am  no  magistrate/' 


218  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS. 

"  But  you  can  understand  liim;  lie  is  French,  the  poor 
rogue — yes,  Frencli,  I  tell  you!  He  shrieked  out  piteously 
to  me  something  about  a  letter,  and  wanting  to  ask  his  way. 
Ah!  I  thought  that  would  touch  you,  and  it  will  cost  you 
little  pains,"  added  Phihp,  as  Berenger  snatched  up  his 
broad  kSpanish  hat,  and  slouching  it  over  his  face,  rose, 
and,  leaning  upon  Annora's  shoulder,  stepped  forward,  just 
as  the  big  burly  blacksmith-constable  and  small  shriveled 
cobbler  advanced,  dragging  along,  by  a  cord  round  the 
wrists,  a  slight  figure  with  a  red  woolen  sailor^s  shirt, 
ragged  black  hosen,  bare  head,  and  almost  bare  feet. 

Doffing  their  caps,  the  men  began  an  awkward  salutation 
to  the  young  lord  on  his  recovery,  but  he  only  touched  his 
beaver  in  return,  and  demanded,  "  How  now!  what  have 
you  bound  him  for?" 

"  You  see,  my  lord,"  began  the  constable,  "  there  have 
been  a  sort  of  vagrants  of  late,  and  1  '11  be  bound  ^twas  no 
four-legged  fox  as  took  Gaffer  Shepherd's  lamb." 

The  peroration  was  broken  off,  for  with  a  start  as  if  he 
had  been  shot,  Berenger  cried  out,  "  Mericour!  the  abbe!" 

"  Ah,  monsieur,  if  you  know  me,"  cried  the  .young  man, 
raising  his  head,  "  free  me  from  this  shame — aid  me  in  my 
mission!" 

'*  Loose  him,  fellows,"  shouted  Berenger;  "Philip,  a 
knife — Lucy,  those  scissors." 

"  ^Tis  my  duty,  my  lord,"  said  Spinks  gruffly.  "  All 
vagabonds  to  be  apprehended  and  flogged  at  the  cart's-tail, 
by  her  Grace's  sjjecial  commands.  How  is  it  to  be  an- 
swered to  his  honor.  Sir  Marmaduke?" 

"Oaf!"  cried  Philip,  "you  durst  not  have  used  such 
violence  had  my  father  been  at  home!  Don't  you  see  my 
brother  knows  him?" 

With  hands  trembling  with  haste,  Berenger  had  seized 
the  scissors  that,  housewife-like,  hung  at  Lucy's  waist, 
and  was  cutting  the  rope,  exclaiming  in  French,  "  Pardon, 
pardon,  friend,  for  so  shameful  a  reception." 

"  Sir,"  was  the  reply,  without  a  sign  of  recognition, 
"  if,  indeed,  you  know  my  name,  I  entreat  yoa  to  direct 
me  to  the  chateau  of  Le  Sieur  Tistefote,  whose  lady  was 
once  Baronne  de  Kibaumont." 

"  My  mother!  Ah,  my  friend,  my  friend!  what  would 
you?"  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  tremulous  hope  and  fear,  laying 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  TEARLS.  310 

one  hand  on  Mericour's  shoulder,  and  about  to  embrace 

him. 

■    Mericour  retreated  from  the  embrace  with  surprise  and 

almost  horror.     "Is  it  indeed  you,  Monsieur  le  Baron? 

But  no,  my  message  is  to  no  such  person. '' 

"A  message — from  her — speak I'^  gasjied  Berenger, 
starting  forward  as  though  to  reud  it  from  him;  but  the 
high-spirited  young  man  crossed  his  arms  on  his  breast, 
and  gazing  at  the  group  with  indignant  scorn,  made  an- 
swer, ' '  My  message  is  from  her  who  deems  herself  a  widow, 
to  the  mother  of  the  husband  whom  she  little  imagines  to 
be  not  only  alive,  but  consoled. '^ 

"  Faithful!  faithful!"  burst  out  Berenger,  with  a  wild, 
exultant,  strangely  ringing  shout.  "  Woe,  woe  to  those 
who  would  have  had  me  doubt  her!  Philip — Lucy — hear! 
Her  truth  is  clear  to  all  the  world!'"  Tben  changing  back 
again  to  French,  "  Ten  thousand  blessings  on  you,  Meri- 
cour!    You  have  seen  her!    Where — how?" 

Mericour  still  s^Doke  with  frigid  politeness.  "  I  had  the 
honor  to  part  with  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Ribaumont  in 
the  town  of  La  Sablerie,  among  humble.  Huguenot  guard- 
ians, to  whom  she  had  fled,  to  save  her  mf ant's  life — 
when  no  aid  came." 

He  was  obliged  to  break  off,  for  Berenger,  stunned  by 
the  sudden  rush  of  emotion,  reeled  as  he  stood,  and  would 
have  fallen  but  for  the  prompt  support  of  Lucy,  who  was 
near  enough  to  guide  him  back  to  rest  upon  the  bench,  say- 
ing resentfully  in  French  as  he  did  so,  "  My  brother  is  still 
very  ill.     I  pray  you,  sir,  have  a  care." 

She  had  not  half  understood  the  raj^id  words  of  the  two 
young  men,  Philip  comprehended  them  far  less,  and  the 
constable  and  his  crew  of  course  not  at  all;  and  Spinks 
pushed  forward  among  the  group  as  he  saw  Berenger  sink 
back  on  the  bench;  and  once  more  collaring  his  prisoner, 
exclaimed,  almost  angrily  to  PhiliiJ,  "  There  now,  sir, 
you've  had  enough  of  the  vagabond.  We'll  keep  him  tight 
ere  he  bewitches  any  more  of  you." 

This  rude  interference  proved  an  instant  restorative. 
Berenger  sjH'ung  up  at  once,  and  seizing  Spinks's  arm, 
exclaimed,  "  Hands  off,  fellow!  This  is  my  friend — a  gen- 
tleman. He  brings  me  tidings  of  hifinite  gladness.  Who 
insults  him,  insults  me. " 

Spmks  scarcely  withdrew  his  hand  from  Mericour's  neck- 


220  THE  CHAPLET  OE  PEARLS. 

and  scowling  said,  "  Very  odd  gentleman — very  queer  tid- 
ings. Master  Berenger,  to  fell  you  like  an  ox.  I  must  be 
answerable  for  the  fellow  till  his  honor  comes/' 

"'Ah!  Uh  qvoi,  wherefore  not  show  the  canaille  your 
sword?"  said  Mericour,  impatiently. 

"  It  may  not  be  seen  here,  in  England,"  said  Berenger 
(who  fortunately  was  not  wearing  his  weapon).  "  And  in 
good  time  here  comes  my  step-father,"  as  the  gate  swung 
back,  and  Sir  Marmaduke  and  Lady  Thistlewood  rode 
through  it,  the  former  sending  his  voice  far  before  him  to 
demand  the  meaning  of  the  hurly-burly  that  filled  his  court. 

Philip  was  the  first  to  spring  to  his  rein,  exclaiming, 
"  Father,  it  is  a  Frenchman  whom  Spinks  would  have 
flogged  at  the  cart's-tail;  but  it  seems  he  is  a  friend  of  Ber- 
enger's,  and  has  brought  him  tidings.  I  know  not  what — 
about  his  wife,  I  believe — any  way  he  is  beside  himself  with 

"  Sir,  your  honor,"  shouted  Spinks,  again  seizing  Meri- 
cour,  and  striving  to  drag  him  forward,  "  I  would  know 
whether  the  law  is  to  be  hindered  from  taking  its  course  be- 
cause my  young  lord  there  is  a  Frenchman  and  bewitched." 

/'  Ah,"  shrieked  Lady  Thistlewood,  "I  knew  it.    They 
will  have  sent  secret  poison  to  finish  him.     Keep  the  fellow 
safe.     He  will  cast  it  in  the  air. " 

"Ay,  ay,  my  lady,"  said  Spinks,  "  there  are  plenty  of 
us  to  testify  that  he  made  my  young  lord  fall  back  as  in  a 
swoon,  and  reel  like  one  distraught.  Pray  Heaven  it  have 
not  gone  further. " 

"  Sir,"  exclaimed  Berenger,  who  on  the  other  side  held 
his  friend's  hand  tight,  "  this  is  a  noble  gentleman — the 
brother  of  the  Duke  de  Mericour.  He  has  come  at  great 
risk  to  bring  me  tidings  of  my  dear  and  true  wife.  And 
not  one  word  will  these  demented  rascals  let  me  hear  with 
their  senseless  clamor. " 

"  Berenger!  You  here,  my  boy!"  exclaimed  Sir  Mar- 
maduke, more  amazed  by  this  than  all  the  rest. 

"  He  touches  him — he  holds  him!  Ah!  will  no  one  tear 
him  away?"  screamed  Lady  Thistlewood.  Nor  would 
Spinks  have  been  slow  in  obeying  her  if  Sir  Marmaduke 
had  not  swung  his  substantial  form  to  the  ground,  and 
stepping  up  to  the  prisoner,  rudely  clawed  on  one  side  by 
Spinks,  and  affectionately  grasped  on  the  other  side  by 
Berenger,  shouted — 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEAKLS.  221 

"  Let  go,  both!  Does  he  speak  Eiighsh?  Peace,  dame! 
If  the  hid  be  bewitched,  it  is  the  right  way.  He  h)oks  like 
another  man.  Eh,  lad,  what  does  your  friend  say  for  him- 
self?'' 

"  Sir,"  said  Berenger,  interpreting  Mericour's  words  as 
they  were  sjioken,  "  he  has  been  robbed  and  misused  at  sea 
by  Montgomery's  pirate  crews.  He  lied  from  court  for  the 
religion's  sake;  he  met  her — my  wife  "  (the  voice  wns 
scarcely  intelligible,  so  tremnlously  was  it  sjioken),  "  in 
hiding  among  the  Hugnenots — he  brings  a  letter  and  a 
token  from  her  to  my  mother." 

"  Ha!  and  yon  know  him?  You  avonch  him  to  bo  what 
he  represents  himself?" 

"  I  knew  him  at  court.  I  know  him  well.  Father, 
make  these  fellows  cease  their  insults!  I  have  heard  noth- 
ing yet.  See  here!"  holding  out  what  Mericour  had  put 
mto  his  hand;  "  this  you  can  not  doubt,  mother." 

"Parted  the  pearls!  Ah,  the  little  minx!"  cried  the 
lady,  as  she  recognized  the  jewels. 

"  1  thought  he  had  been  robbed?"  added  Sir  Marma- 
duke. 

"  The  gentleman  doubts?"  said  Mericour,  catching  some 
of  the  words.  "  Ho  should  know  that  what  is  confided  in 
a  French  gentleman  is  only  taken  from  him  with  bis  life. 
Much  did  I  lose;  but  the  pearl  I  kept  hidden  in  my  mouth. " 

Therewith  he  j^roduced  the  letter.  Lady  Thistiewood 
pronounced  that  no  power  on  earth  should  induce  hei-  to 
open  it,  and  drew  oft"  herself  and  her  little  girls  to  a  safe 
distance  from  the  secret  poison  she  fancied  it  contained; 
while  Sir  Marmaduke  was  rating  the  constables  for  taking 
advantage  of  his  absence  to  interpret  the  (Queen's  Vagrant 
Act  in  their  own  violent  fashion;  ending,  however,  by  send- 
ing them  round  to  the  buttery-hatch  to  drink  the  young 
lord's  health.  For  the  messenger,  the  good  knight  heart- 
ily grasped  his  hand,  welcoming  him  and  tlianking  him  for 
having  "  brought  comfoi-t  to  yon  poor  lad's  heart." 

But  there  Sir  Marmaduke  paused,  doubting  whether  the 
letter  had  indeed  brought  comfort;  for  Berenger,  who  had 
seized  on  it,  when  it  was  refused  by  his  mother,  was  sitting 
under  the  tree — turning  away  indeed,  but  not  able  to  con- 
ceal that  his  tears  were  gushing  down  like  rain.  The  anx- 
ious exclamation  of  his  step-father  roused  him  at  length, 
but  he  scarce  found  power  or  voice  to  utter,  as  he  thrust 


222  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS. 

the  letter  into  the  knight's  hand,  "  Ah!  see  what  has  she 
not  suffered  for  me?  me,  whom  you  would  have  had  be- 
lieve her  faithless!" 

He  then  grasped  his  friend's  arm,  and  with  him  disa})- 
peared  into  the  house,  leaving  Sir  Marmaduke  holding  the 
letter  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  bewilderment,  and  calling  by 
turns  on  his  wife  and  daughter  to  read  and  explain  it  to 
him. 

And  as  Lucy  read  the  letter,  which  her  mother  could  not 
yet  prevail  on  herself  to  touch,  she  felt  at  each  word  more 
grateful  to  the  good  Aunt  Cecily,  whose  influence  had 
taught  her  always  to  view  Berenger  as  a  brother,  and  not 
to  condemn  unheard  the  poor  young  wife.  If  she  had  not 
been  thus  guarded,  what  distress  might  not  this  day  of  joy 
to  Berenger  have  brought  to  Lucy.  Indeed,  Lady  Thistle- 
wood  was  vexed  enough  as  it  was,  and  ready  to  carry  her 
incredulity  to  the  most  inconsistent  lengths.  "  It  was  all 
a  trick  for  getting  the  jjoor  boy  back,  that  they  might 
make  an  end  of  him  altogether,"  Tell  her  they  thought 
him  dead.  "  Tilley-valley!  it  was  a  mere  attempt  on  her 
own  good-nature,  to  get  a  little  French  impostor  on  her 
hands.  Let  Sir  Duke  look  well  to  it,  and  take  care  that 
her  poor  boy  was  not  decoyed  among  them.  The  French- 
man might  be  cutting  his  throat  at  that  moment!  Where 
was  he?  Had  Sir  Duke  been  so  lost  as  to  let  them  out  of 
sight  togetiier?  No  one  had  either  pity  or  prudence  now 
that  her  poor  father  was  gone;"  and  she  began  to  weej). 

"  No  great  fear  on  that  score,  dame,"  laughed  the 
knight.  "  Did  you  not  hear  the  lad  shouting  for  '  Phil, 
Phil!'  almost  in  a  voice  like  old  times?  It  does  one  good 
to  hear  it. " 

Just  at  twilight,  Berenger  came  down  the  steps,  con- 
ducting a  graceful  gentleman  in  black,  to  whom  Lady  Tliis- 
tlewood's  instinct  im])elled  her  to  make  a  low  courtesy,  be- 
fore Berenger  had  said,  "  Madame,  allow  me  to  present  to 
you  my  friend,  the  Abbe  de  Mericour. " 

"  Is  it  the  same?"  whispered  Bessie  to  Annora.  "  Surely 
he  is  translated ! " 

"  Only  into  Philip's  old  mourning  suit.  I  know  it  by 
the  stain  on  the  knee. " 

"  Then  it  is  translated  too.  Never  did  it  look  so  well 
on  Philip!     See,  our  mother  is  quite  gracious  to  him;  she 


THE    CUATLET    OF    I'EAKLS.  333 

speaks  to  him  as  though  ho  were  some  nohle  visitor  to  my 
lord. " 

Therewith  Sir  Marmaduke  came  forward,  shook  Meri- 
cour  with  all  his  might  by  the  hand,  shouted  to  him  his 
hearty  thanks  for  the  good  he  had  done  his  poor  lad,  and 
assured  him  of  a  welcome  from  the  very  bottom  of  his 
heart.  The  good  knight  would  fain  have  kept  both  Bereu- 
ger  and  his  friend  at  the  manor,  but  lierenger  was  far  too 
impatient  to  carry  home  his  joy,  and  only  begged  the  loan 
of  a  horse  for  Mericour.  For  himself,  he  felt  as  if  fatigue 
or  dejection  Avould  never  touch  him  again,  and  ho  kissed 
his  mother  and  his  sisters,  including  Lucy,  all  round,  with 
an  effusion  of  delight. 

"  Is  that  indeed  your  step-father?^'  said  Mericour,  as 
they  rode  away  together.  And  the  young  man,  is  he 
your  half-brother?'^ 

"  Brother  AvhoUy  in  dear  love,"  said  Berenger;  "  no 
blood  relation.     The  little  girls  are  my  mothei''s  children." 

*'  Ah!  so  large  a  family  all  one?  All  at  home?  None 
iu  convents?" 

"  We  have  no  convents." 

*' Ah,  no.  But  all  at  home!  All  at  peace!  Tliis  is  a 
strange  place,  your  England." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

DEPAKTURE. 

It  is  my  mistress! 
Since  she  is  living,  let  the  time  run  on 
To  good  or  bad. — Cymbeline. 

Mericour  found  the  welcome  at  Hurst  Walwyn  as 
kmdly  and  more  polished  than  that  at  Combe  Manor.  Ho 
was  more  readily  understood,  and  found  himself  at  his 
natural  element.  Lord  Walwyn,  in  especial,  took  much 
notice  of  him,  and  conversed  with  him  long  and  earnestly; 
wliile  Berenger,  too  happy  and  too  weary  to  exert  himself 
to  say  many  words,  sat  as  near  Cecily  as  he  could,  treating 
her  as  though  she,  who  had  never  contradicted  him  in  his 
trust  in  Eustacie,  Avere  the  oiily  person  who  could  worthily 
share  his  infinite  relief,  peace,  and  thankfulness. 

Lord  AValwyn  said  scarcel^^  anything  to  his  grandson 
that  night,  only  when  Berenger,  as  usual,  bent  his  knee  to 


224  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.- 

ask  his  blessing  on  parting  for  the  night,  he  said,  gravely, 
"  Sou,  I  am  glad  of  your  joy;  I  fear  me  you  have  somewhat 
to  pardon  your  grandsire.  Come  to  my  library  so  soon  as 
morning  prayers  be  over;  we  will  speak  then.  Not  now, 
my  dear  lad,^^  he  added,  as  Berenger,  with  tears  in  his 
e3'es,  kissed  his  hand,  and  would  have  begun;  "  you  are  too 
much  worn  and  sj)ent  to  make  my  deaf  ears  hear.  Sleep, 
and  take  my  blessing  with  you. " 

It  was  a  delight  to  see  the  young  face  freed  from  the 
haggard,  dejected  expression  that  had  been  sadder  than  the 
outward  wounds;  and  yet  it  was  so  questionable  how  far 
the  French  connection  was  acceptable  to  the  family,  that 
when  Berenger  requested  Mr.  Adderley  to  make  mention 
of  the  mercy  vouchsafed  to  him  in  the  morning  devotions, 
the  chaplain  bowed,  indeed,  but  took  care  to  ascertain  that 
his  so  doing  would  be  agreeable  to  my  lord  and  my  lady. 

He  found  that  if  Lady  Walwyn  was  still  inclined  to  re- 
gret that  the  Frenchwoman  was  so  entirely  a  wife,  and 
thought  Berenger  had  been  very  hasty  and  imprudent,  j^et 
that  the  old  lord  was  chiefly  distressed  at  the  cruel  injustice 
he  had  so  long  been  doing  this  poor  young  thing.  A  strong 
sense  of  justice,  and  long  habit  of  dignified  self-restraint, 
alone  prevented  Lord  Walwyn  from  severely  censuring  Mr. 
Adderley  for  misrepresentations;  but  the  old  nobleman  rec- 
ollected tliat  Walsinghani  had  been  in  the  same  story,  and 
was  too  upright  to  visit  his  own  vexation  on  the  honestly 
mistaken  tutor. 

However,  when  Berenger  made  his  appearance  in  the 
study,  looking  as  if  not  one  night,  but  weeks,  had  been 
spent  in  recovering  health  and  spirit,  the  old  man's  first 
word  was  a  gentle  rebuke  for  his  having  been  left  unaware 
of  how  far  matters  had  gone;  but  he  cut  short  the  attempted 
reply,  by  saying  he  knew  it  was  chiefly  owing  to  his  own 
overhasty  conclusion,  and  fear  of  letting  his  grandson  in- 
jure himself  by  vainly  discussing  the  subject.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  examined  Berenger  closely  on  all  the  proceedings 
at  Paris  and  at  Montpij^eau,  and  soon  understood  that  the 
ceremony  had  been  renewed,  ratifying  the  vows  taken  in 
infancy.  The  old  statesman's  face  cleared  up  at  once;  for, 
as  he  explained,  he  had  now  no  anxieties  as  to  the  validity 
of  the  marriage  by  English  law,  at  least,  in  spite  of  the 
decree  from  Kome,  which,  as  he  pointed  out  to  his  grand- 
son, was  wholly  contingent  on  the  absence  of  subsequent, 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  3^5 

consent,  since  the  parties  had  come  to  an  age  for  free  will. 
Had  he  known  of  this,  the  remarriage,  he  said,  he  should 
certainly  have  been  less  supine.  Why  had  Berenger  been 
silent? 

"  I  was  commanded,  sir.  I  fear  I  have  transgressed  the 
command  by  mentioning  it  now.  I  must  pray  you  to  be 
secret.'' 

"  Secret,  foolish  hul.  Know  you  not  that  the  rights  of 
your  wife  and  your  child  rest  upon  it?"  and  as  the  change 
in  Berenger 's  looks  showed  that  he  had  not  comprehended 
the  full  importance  of  the  second  ceremony  as  nullifying 
the  Papal  sentence,  wiiich  could  only  quash  the  first  on  the 
ground  of  want  of  mutual  consent,  lie  proceeded,  "  Com- 
mand, quotha?  Who  there  had  any  right  to  command  you, 
boy?" 

"  Only  one,  sir." 

"  Come,  this  is  no  moment  for  lovers'  folly.  It  was  not 
the  girl,  then?  Then  it  could  be  no  other  than  the  miser- 
able king — was  it  so?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Berenger.  "  He  bade  me  as  king,  and 
requested  me  as  the  friend  who  gave  her  to  me.  I  could 
do  no  otherwise,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  but  a  matter  of 
a  few  days,  and  that  our  original  marriage  was  the  only 
important  one." 

Have  you  any  parchment  to  prove  it?" 

*'  Eo,  sir.  It  passed  but  as  a  ceremony  to  satisfy  the 
queen's  scruples  ere  she  gave  my  wife  to  me  to  take  home. 
I  even  think  the  king  was  displeased  at  her  requiring  it." 

"  Was  Mr.  Sidney  a  witness?" 

"  No,  sir.  None  was  present,  save  the  king  and  queen, 
her  German  countess,  and  the  German  priest." 

"  The  day?" 

"  Lammas-day." 

*'  1'he  1st  of  August  of  the  year  of  grace  1573.  I  will 
write  to  Walsingluim  to  obtain  the  testimony,  if  possible, 
of  king  or  of  priest;  Init  belike  they  will  deny  it  all.  It  was 
part  of  the  trick.  Shame  upon  it  that  a  king  should  dig 
pits  for  so  small  a  game  as  you,  my  i)oor  lad!" 

"  Verily,  my  lord,"  said  Berenger,  "  I  think  the  king 
meant  us  kindly,  and  would  gladly  have  sjied  ns  well  away. 
Methought  he  felt  his  bondage  bitterly,  and  would  fain 
have  dared  to  be  a  true  king.  Even  at  the  last,  he  bade 
me  to  his garde-rohe,,  and  all  there  were  unhurt." 


226  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS. 

**  And  wherefore  obeyed  yon  not?" 

*'  The  carouse  would  have  kept  me  too  late  for  our 
flight. " 

"  King's  behests  may  not  lightly  be  disregarded,*'  said 
the  old  courtier,  with  a  smile.  '  However,  since  he  showed 
Buch  seeming  favor  to  you,  surely  you  might  send  a  petition 
to  him  privately,  through  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  to  let 
the  priest  testify  to  your  renewal  of  contract,  engaging  not 
to  use  it  to  his  detriment  in  France. " 

"  I  will  do  so,  sir.  Meanwhile,"  he  added,  as  one  who 
felt  he  had  earned  a  right  to  be  heard  in  his  turn,  "  I  have 
your  ijermissiou  to  hasten  to  bring  home  my  wife?" 

Lord  Walwyn  was  startled  at  this  demand  from  one  still 
so  far  from  recovered  as  Berenger.  Even  this  talk,  eager 
as  the  youth  was,  had  not  been  carried  on  without  much 
difficulty,  repetition,  and  altered  phrases,  when  he  could 
not  pronounce  distinctly  enough  to  be  understood,  and  the 
effort  brought  lines  of  pain  into  his  brow.  He  could  take 
little  solid  food,  had  hardly  any  strength  for  walking  or 
riding;  and,  though  all  liis  wounds  were  whole,  except  that 
one  unmanageable  shot  in  the  mouth,  he  looked  entirely 
unfit  to  venture  on  a  long  journey  in  the  very  country  that 
had  sent  him  home  a  year  before  scarcely  alive.  Lord  Wal- 
wyn had  already  devised  what  he  thought  a  far  more  prac- 
ticable arrangement;  namely,  to  send  Mr.  Adderley  and 
some  of  my  lady's  women  by  sea,  under  the  charge  of  Mas- 
ter Hobbs,  a  shipmaster  at  Weymouth,  who  traded  with 
Bordeaux  for  wine,  and  could  easily  put  in  near  La  Sab- 
lerie,  and  bring  off  the  lady  and  child,  and,  if  she  wished  it, 
the  pastor  to  whom  such  a  debt  of  gratitude  was  owing. 

Berenger  was  delighted  with  the  notion  of  the  sea  rather 
than  the  land  journey;  but  he  pointed  out  at  once  that  this 
would  remove  all  objection  to  his  going  in  person.  He  had 
often  been  out  whole  nights  with  the  fishermen,  and  knew 
that  a  sea-voyage  would  be  better  for  his  health  than  any- 
thing— certainly  better  than  pining  and  languishing  at 
home,  as  he  had  done  for  months.  He  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  separation  from  Eustacie  an  hour  longer  than 
needful;  nay,  she  had  been  cruelly  entreated  enough  al- 
ready; and  as  long  as  he  could  keep  his  feet,  it  was  abso- 
lutely due  to  her  that  he  should  not  let  others,  instead  of 
himself,  go  in  search  of  her.  It  woulit  be  almost  death  to 
him  to  stay  at  home. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  237 

Lorl  Walwyn  looked  at  the  pallid,  wasted  face,  with  all 
its  marks  of  suffering  and  intense  eagerness  of  expression, 
increased  by  the  difficulty  of  utterance  and  need  of  subdu- 
ling  agitation.  He  felt  that  the  long-misunderstood  pa- 
tience and  endurance  had  earned  something;  and  he  knew, 
too,  that  for  all  his  grand son^s  submission  and  respect,  the 
boy,  as  a  husband  and  father,  had  rights  and  duties  that 
would  assert  themselves  manfully  if  opjjosed.  It  was  true 
that  the  sea-voyage  obviated  many  difficulties,  and  it  was 
better  to  consent  with  a  good  grace  than  drive  one  hitherto 
so  dutiful  to  rebellion.  He  did  then  consent,  and  was  re- 
warded by  the  lightning  tiash  of  joy  and  gratitude  in  the 
bright  blue  eyes,  and  the  fervent  pressure  and  kiss  of  his 
hand,  as  Berenger  exclaimed,  "  Ah!  sir,  Eustacie  will  be 
such  a  daughter  to  you.  You  should  have  seen  how  the 
admiral  liked  her!'' 

The  news  of  Lord  Walwyn 's  consent  raised  much  com- 
motion in  the  family.  Dame  Annora  was  sure  her  jjoor 
son  would  bo  murdered  outright  this  time,  and  that  no- 
body cared  because  he  was  only  Iter  son;  and  she  strove 
hard  to  stir  up  Sir  Marmaduke  to  remonstrate  with  her  fa- 
ther; but  the  good  knight  had  never  disputed,  a  judgment' 
of  "  my  lord's  "  in  his  whole  life,  and  had  even  received 
his  first  wife  from  his  hands,  when  forsaken  by  the  gay 
Annora.  So  she  could  only  ride  over  to  Combe,  be  silenced 
by  her  father,  as  effectually  as  if  Ju23iter  had  nodded,  and 
bewail  and  murmur  to  her  mother  till  she  lashed  Lady 
Walwyn  up  hito  finding  every  possible  reason  why  Beren- 
ger should  and  must  sail.  Then  she  went  home,  was  very 
sharp  with  Lucy,  and  was  reckoned  by  saucy  little  Nan  to 
have  nineteen  times  exclaimed  "  Tilley- valley  "  in  the  course 
of  one  day. 

The  effect  upon  Philip  was  a  vehement  insistauce  on 
going  with  his  brother.  He  was  sure  no  one  else  would  see 
to  Berry  half  as  well;  and  as  to  letting  Berry  go  to  be  mur- 
dered again  without  him,  he  would  not  hear  of  it;  he  must 
go,  he  would  not  stay  at  home;  he  should  not  study;  no, 
no,  he  should  be  ready  to  hang  himself  for  vexation,  and 
thinking  what  they  were  doing  to  his  brother.  And  thus 
he  extorted  from  his  kind-hearted  father  an  avowal  that  he 
should  be  easier  about  the  lad  if  Phil  were  there,  and  that 
he  might  go,  provided  Berry  would  have  him,  and  my  lord 
saw  no  objection.     Tlie  first  point  was  soon  settled;  and  as 


328  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

to  the  second,  there  was  no  reason  at  all  that  Philip  should 
not  go  where  his  brother  did.  In  fact,  excepting  for 
Berenger's  state  of  health,  there  was  hardl}^  any  risk  about 
the  matter.  Master  Hobbs,  to  Avhom  Philip  rode  down 
ecstatically  to  request  him  to  come  and  speak  to  my  lord, 
was  a  stout,  honest,  experienced  seaman,  who  v/as  perfectly 
at  home  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  and  had  so  strong  a  feudal 
feeling  for  the  house  of  Walwyn,  that  he  jilaced  himself 
and  his  best  shij:),  the  "  Throstle,"  entirely  at  his  disposal. 
The  "  Throstle  "  was  a  capital  sailer,  and  carried  arms 
quite  sufficient  in  English  hands  to  protect  her  against 
Algerine  corsairs  or  Spanish  jiirates.  He  only  asked  for  a 
week  to  make  her  calkin  ready  for  the  reception  of  a  lady, 
and  this  time  was  spent  in  sending  a  post  to  London,  to  ob- 
tain for  Berenger  the  permit  from  the  queen,  and  the  pass- 
port from  the  French  Ambassador,  without  which  he  could 
not  safely  have  gone;  and,  as  a  further  precaution,  letters 
were  requested  from  some  of  the  secret  agents  of  the  Hugue- 
nots to  facilitate  his  admission  into  La  Sablerie. 

In  the  meantime,  poor  Mr.  Adderley  had  submitted 
meekly  to  the  decree  that  sentenced  him  to  weeks  of  misery 
on  board  the  "  Throstle,"  but  to  his  infinite  relief,  an  in- 
spection of  the  cabins  proved  the  sjDace  so  small,  that 
Berenger  represented  to  his  grandfather  that  the  excellent 
tutor  would  be  only  an  incumbrance  to  himself  and  every 
one  else,  and  that  with  Philip  he  should  need  no  one.  In- 
deed, he  had  made  such  a  start  into  vigor  and  alertness 
during  the  last  few  days  that  there  was  far  less  anxiety 
about  him,  though  with  several  sighs  for  poor  Osbert. 
Cecily  initiated  Philip  into  her  simjile  rules  for  her  patient's 
treatment  in  case  of  the  return  of  his  more  painful  symp- 
toms. The  notion  of  sending  female  attendants  for  Eusta- 
cie  was  also  abandoned;  her  husband's  presence  rendered 
them  unnecessary,  or  they  might  be  procured  at  La  Sab- 
lerie; and  thus  it  happened  tliat  the  only  servants  whom 
Berenger  was  to  take  with  him  were  Humfrey  Holt  and 
John  Smithers,  the  same  honest  fellows  whose  steadiness 
had  so  much  conduced  to  his  rescue  at  Paris. 

Claude  de  Mericour  had  in  the  meantime  been  treated  as 
an  honored  guest  at  Combe  Walwyn,  and  was  in  good  es- 
teem with  its  master.  He  would  have  set  forth  at  once  on 
his  journey  to  Scotland,  but  that  Lord  Walwyn  advised  him 
to  wait  and  ascertain  the  condition  of  his  relatives  there 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARtS.  239 

before  throwing  himself  on  them.  Berenger  had,  accord- 
ingly, when  writing  to  Sidney  by  the  messenger  above  men- 
tioned, begged  him  to  find  out  from  Sir  Robert  Melville, 
the  Scottish  Envoy,  all  he  could  about  the  family  whose 
designation  he  wrote  down  at  a  venture  from  Mericour's 
lips. 

Sidney  returned  a  most  affectionate  answer,  saying  that 
he  had  never  been  able  to  believe  the  little  shepherdess  a 
traitor,  and  was  charmed  that  she  had  jaroved  herself  a 
heroine;  he  should  endeavor  to  greet  her  with  all  his  best 
powers  as  a  poet,  when  she  should  brighten  the  English 
Court;  but  his  friend.  Master  Spenser,  alone  was  fit  to 
celebrate  such  constancy.  As  to  M.  FAbbe  de  Mericour's 
friends,  Sir  Kobert  Melville  had  recognized  their  name  at 
once,  and  had  pronounced  them  to  be  fierce  Catholics  and 
Queensmen,  so  sorely  pressed  by  the  Douglases,  that  it  was 
believed  they  would  soon  fly  the  country  altogether;  and 
Sidney  added,  what  Lord  Walwyn  had  already  said,  that  to 
seek  Scotland  rather  than  France  as  a  resting-place  in 
which  to  weigh  between  Calvinism  and  Catholicism,  was 
only  the  fire  instead  of  the  frying-pan;  since  there  the 
parties  were  trebly  hot  and  fanatical.  His  counsel  was 
that  M.  de  Mericour  should  so  far  conform  himself  to  the 
English  Church  as  to  obtain  admission  to  one  of  the  uni- 
versities, and,  through  his  uncle  of  Leicester,  he  could  ob- 
tain for  him  an  opening  at  Oxford,  w^here  he  might  fully 
study  the  subject. 

There  was  much  to  incline  Mericour  to  accept  this  coun- 
sel. He  had  had  much  conversation  with  Mr.  Adderley, 
and  had  attended  his  ministrations  in  the  chapel,  and 
both  satisfied  him  far  better  than  what  he  liad  seen  among 
the  French  Calvinists;  and  the  peace  and  family  affection 
of  the  two  houses  were  like  a  new  world  to  him.  But  ho 
had  not  yet  made  up  his  mind  to  that  absolute  disavowal 
of  his  own  branch  of  the  Church,  which  alone  could  have 
rendered  him  eligible  for  any  foundation  at  Oxford.  His 
attainments  in  classics  would,  Mr.  Adderley  thought,  reach 
such  a  standard  as  to  gain  one  of  the  very  few  scholarships 
open  to  foreigners;  and  his  noble  blood  revolted  at  becom- 
ing a  peneioner  of  Leicester's,  or  of  any  other  nobleman. 

Lord  Walwyn,  upon  this,  made  an  earnest  offer  of  his 
hospitality,  and  entreated  the  young  man  to  remain  at 
Hurst  Walwyn  till  the  return  of  Berenger  and  Philip,  dur- 


230  TiTP  chaplt:t  op  p15;arls. 

ing  which  time  ho  might  study  under  the  direcUons  of  Mr. 
Adderley,  and  come  to  a  decision  whether  to  seek  recon- 
ciliation wifcli  his  native  Church  and  his  brother,  or  to  re- 
main in  England.  In  this  latter  case,  he  might  perhaps 
accompany  both  the  youths  to  Oxford,  for,  in  spite  of 
Berenger's  marriage,  his  education  was  still  not  supposed 
to  be  complete.  And  when  Mericour  still  demurred  with 
reluctance  to  become  a  burden  on  the  bounty  of  the  noble 
house,  he  was  reminded  gracefully  of  the  debt  of  gratitude 
that  the  family  owed  to  him  for  the  relief  he  had  brought 
to  Berenger;  and,  moreover.  Dame  Annora  giggled  out 
that,  "  if  he  would  teach  Nan  and  Bess  to  speak  and  read 
French  and  T^talian,  it  would  be  worth  something  to  them. " 
The  others  of  the  family  would  have  hushed  up  this  un- 
called-for joroposal;  but  Mericour  caught  at  it  as  the  most 
congenial  mode  of  returning  the  obligation.  Every  morning 
he  undertook  to  walk  or  ride  over  to  the  manor,  and  there 
gave  his  lessons  to  the  young  ladies,  with  whom  he  was  ex- 
tremely 2>opular.  He  was  a  far  more  brilliant  teacher  than 
Lucy,  and  ten  thousand  times  preferable  to  Mr.  Adderley, 
who  had  once  begun  to  teach  Aunora  her  accideuco  with 
lumen  table  want  of  success. 


ajTD  OF  FIRST  HALF. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    EMPTY    CRADLE.        • 

Eager  to  know 
The  worst,  and  with  that  fatal  certainty 
To  terminate  intolerable  dread, 
He  spurred  his  courser  forward — all  his  fears 
Too  surely  are  fulfilled. 

SOUTHEY. 

Contrary  winds  made  the  voyage  of  the  "  Throstle  ■'* 
much  more  tardy  than  had  been  reckoned  on  by  Berenger's 
impatience;  but  hope  was  before  him,  and  he  often  remem- 
bered his  days  in  the  httle  vessel  as  much  happier  than  he 
had  known  them  to  be  at  the  time. 

It  was  in  the  calm  days  of  bright  October  that  Captain 
Hobbs  at  length  was  putting  into  the  little  harbor  nearest 
to  La  Sablerie.  Berenger,  on  that  morning,  had  for  the 
first  time  been  seized  by  a  lit  of  anxiety  as  to  the  impres- 
sion his  face  would  make,  with  its  terrible  purple  scar, 
great  patch,  and  bald  forehead,  and  had  brought  out  a  lit- 
tle black  velvet  mask,  called  a  toiir  cle  nez,  often  used  in 
riding  to  protect  the  complexion,  intending  to  prepare 
Eustacie  for  his  disfigurement.  He  had  fastened  on  a  car- 
nation-colored sword-knot,  wound  a  scarf  of  the  same  color 
across  his  shoulder,  clasped  a  long  ostrich  plume  into  his 
broad  Spanish  hat,  and  looked  out  his  deeply  fringed  Span- 
ish gloves;  and  Philip  was  laughing  merrily,  not  to  say 
rudely,  at  him,  for  trying  to  deck  himself  out  so  bravely. 

"  See,  Master  Hobbs,"  cried  the  boy  hi  his  high  spirits, 
as  he  followed  his  brother  on  deck,  "  you  did  not  know  you 
had  so  fine  a  gallant  on  board.  Here  be  braveries  for  my 
lady." 

"  Hush,  Pliil,"  broke   in   Berenger,  who  had  hitherto 


6  Tflfi    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

taken  all  the  raillery  in  perfect  good  part.  "  What  is  amiss, 
Master  llobbs?" 

"I  can  not  justly  say,  sir,"  returned  Master  Hobbs, 
without  taking  his  gaze  off  the  coast,  "  but  by  yonder 
banks  and  creeks  this  should  be  the  Sables  d'Olonne;  and 
I  do  not  see  the  steeple  of  La  Sablerie,  which  has  always 
been  the  landmark  for  the  harbor  of  St.  Julien.^' 

"  What  do  you  understand  l^y  that?"  asked  Berenger, 
more  struck  by  his  manner  than  his  words. 

"  Well,  sir,  if  I  am  right,  a  steeple  that  has  stood  three 
or  four  hundred  years  does  not  vanish  out  of  sight  like  a 
cloud  of  smoke  for  nothing.  It  may  be  lightning,  to  be 
sure,  or  the  Protestants  may  have  had  it  down  for  Popery; 
but  methinks  they  would  have  too  much  Christian  regard 
for  poor  mariners  than  to  knock  down  the  only  landmark 
on  this  coast  till  you  come  to  Nissard  spire.''  Then  he 
hailed  the  man  at  the  mast-head,  demanding  if  he  saw  the 
steeple  of  La  Sablerie.  "  No,  no,  sir."  But  as  other  por- 
tions of  the  land  became  clearer,  there  was  no  doubt  that 
the  "  Throstle  "  was  right  in  her  bearings;  so  the  skipper 
gave  orders  to  cast  anchor  and  lower  a  boat.  The  2)assengers 
would  have  pressed  him  with  inquiries  as  to  what  he 
thought  the  absence  of  his  landmark  could  portend;  but 
he  hurried  about,  and  shouted  orders,  with  the  deaf  des- 
potism of  a  nautical  commander;  and  only  when  all  was 
made  ready,  turned  round  and  said,  "  Now,  sir,  may  be  you 
had  best  let  me  go  ashore  first,  and  find  out  how  the  land 
lies." 

"  Never!"  said  Berenger,  in  an  agony  of  impatience. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  captain.  "Well,  then,  sir, 
are  your  fellows  ready?     Armed?    All  right. " 

So  Berenger  descended  to  the  boat,  followed  by  Philip; 
next  came  the  captain,  and  then  the  two  serving-men.  Six 
of  the  crew  were  ready  to  row  them  to  the  shore,  and  were 
bidden  by  their  captain  to  return  at  once  to  the  vessel,  and 
only  return  on  a  signal  from  him.  The  surging  rush  of 
intense  anxiety,  sure  to  ])recede  the  destined  moment  of 
the  consumnuitiou  of  hope  long  deferred,  kept  Berenger 
silent,  choked  ])y  something  between  fear  and  jirayer;  but 
Philip,  less  engrossed,  asked  Master  Hobbs  if  it  were  not 
strange  that  none  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  squalid  little 
huts  on  the  shore  had  not  put  out  to  greet  them  in  some 
of  the  boats  that  were  drawn  up  on  the  beach. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEA  ELS.  7 

**  Poor  wretches, "  siiid  Ilobbs;  "  they  scarce  Know  friend 
from  foe,  and  are  slow  to  run  their  heads  into  the  Uoii's 
mouth.  Strange  fellows  have  the  impudence  to  sail  under 
our  flag  at  times. " 

However,  as  they  neared  the  low,  flat,  sandy  shore,  a  few 
red  caps  peeped  out  at  the  cottage-doors,  and  then,  ajipar- 
ently  gaining  confidence  from  the  survey,  some  wiry,  active 
figures  appeared,  and  were  hailed  by  Hobbs.  His  Bor- 
deaux trade  had  rendered  him  master  of  the  coast  lan- 
guage; and  a  few  incomprehensible  shouts  between  him  and 
the  natives  resulted  in  a  line  being  thrown  to  them,  and 
the  boat  dragged  as  near  as  possible  to  the  landing-place, 
when  half  a  dozen  ran  up,  splashing  with  their  bare  legs,  to 
offer  their  shoulders  for  the  transjjort  of  the  passengers, 
both  of  whom  were  seized  upon  before  they  were  aware, 
Philip  struggling  with  all  his  might,  til!  a  call  from  Cap- 
tain Hobbs  warned  him  to  resign  himself;  and  then  he  be- 
came almost  helpless  with  laughter  at  the  figure  cut  by  the 
long-legged  Berenger  ujjon  a  small  fisherman's  back. 

They  were  landed.  Could  it  be  that  Berenger  was  only 
two  miles — only  half  an  hour's  walk  from  Eustacie?  The 
bound  his  heart  gave  as  he  touched  the  shore  seemed  to 
stifle  him.  He  could  not  believe  it.  Yet  he  knew  how 
fully  he  had  believed  it,  the  next  moment,  when  he  listened 
to  what  the  fishermen  were  saying  to  Captain  Hobbs: 

"  Hid  monsieur  wish  to  go  to  La  Sablerie?  Ah!  then  he 
did  not  know  what  had  happened.  The  soldiers  had  been 
there;  there  had  been  a  great  burning.  They  had  been 
out  in  their  boats  at  sea,  but  they  had  seen  the  sky  red— red 
as  a  furnace,  all  night;  and  the  steeple  was  down.  Surely, 
monsieur  had  missed  the  steejile  that  was  a  guide  to  all 
poor  seafarers;  and  now  they  had  to  go  all  the  way  to 
Brancour  to  sell  their  fish." 

"  And  the  townspeople?"  Hobbs  asked. 

*'Ah!  poor  things;  'twas  pity  of  them,  for  they  were 
honest  folk  to  deal  with,  even  if  they  were  heretics.  They 
loved  fish  at  other  seasons  if  not  in  Lent;  and  it  seemed 
but  a  fair  return  to  go  up  and  bury  as  many  of  them  as 
were  not  burned- to  nothing  m  their  church;  and  Uom  Col- 
ombeau,  the  good  priest  of  Nissard,  has  said  it  was  a  pious 
work;  and  he  was  a  saint,  if  any  one  was." 

"  Alack,  sir,"  said  Hobbs,  laying  his  hand  on  the  arm  of 
Berenger,  who  seemed  neither  to  have  breathed  nor  moved 


8  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

while  the  man  was  speaking;  "  I  feared  that  tliere  had  been 
some  such  bloody  work  when  I  missed  the  steeple.  But 
take  heart  yet;  your  lady  is  very  like  to  have  been  out  of 
the  way.  We  miglit  make  for  La  Rochelle,  and  there 
learn!"  Then,  again  to  the  fisherman,  "  None  escaped, 
fellow?" 

"  Not  one,"  replied  the  man.  "  They  say  that  one  of 
the  great  folks  was  in  a  special  rage  with  them  for  shelter- 
ing the  lady  he  should  have  wedded,  but  who  had  broken 
convent  and  turned  heretic;  and  they  had  victualed  Mont- 
gomery's pirates  too." 

"  And  the  lady?"  con  tinned  Hobbs,  ever  trying  to  get  a 
more  supporting  hold  of  his  young  charge,  in  case  the  rigid 
tension  of  his  limbs  shoidd  suddenly  relax. 

"I  can  not  tell,  sir.  I  am  a  poor  fisher;  but  I  could 
guide  you  to  the  place  where  old  Gillot  is  always  poking 
about.  He  listened  to  their  jjreachings,  and  knows  more 
than  we  do. " 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  Berenger,  at  once  beginning  to  stride 
along  in  his  heavy  boots  through  the  deep  sand.  Philip, 
who  had  hardly  understood  a  word  of  the  patois,  caught 
hold  of  liim,  and  begged  to  be  told  what  had  happened; 
but  Master  Hobbs  drew  the  boy  off,  and  explained  to  him 
and  to  the  two  men  what  were  the  dreadful  tidings  that  had 
wrought  such  a  change  in  Berenger 's  demeanor.  The  way 
over  the  shifting  sands  was  toilsome  enough  to  all  the  rest 
of  the  party;  but  Berenger  scarcely  seemed  to  feel  the  doe]^ 
plunge  at  every  step  as  they  almost  plowed  their  way  along 
for  the  weary  two  miles,  before  a  few  green  bushes  and 
half-choked  trees  showed  that  they  were  reaching  the  con- 
fines of  the  sandy  waste.  Berenger  had  not  uttered  a  word 
the  whole  time,  and  his  silence  hushed  the  others.  The 
ground  began  to  rise,  grass  was  seen  still  struggling  to 
grow,  and  presently  a  large  straggling  mass  of  black  and 
gray  ruins  revealed  themselves,  with  the  remains  of  a  once 
well-trodden  road  leading  to  them.  But  the  road  led  to  a 
gate-way  choked  by  a  fallen  jaml)  and  barred  door,  and  the 
guide  led  them  round  the  ruins  of  the  wall  to  the  opening 
where  the  breach  had  been.  The  sand  was  already  blow- 
ing in,  and  no  doubt  veiled  much;  for  the  streets  were 
scarcely  traceable  through  remnants  of  houses  more  or  less 
dilapidated,  with  shreds  of  broken  or  burned  household  fur- 
niture within  them. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEARLS.  9 

"Ask  him  for  la  rue  des  Trois  Fees,"  hoarsely  whis- 
pered Bcrenger. 

The  fisherman  nodded,  but  soon  seemed  at  fault;  and  an 
old  man,  followed  by  a  few  children,  soon  appearing,  laden 
with  pieces  of  fuel,  he  appealed  to  him  as  Father  Gillot, 
and  asked  whether  he  could  find  the  street.  The  old  num 
seemed  at  home  in  the  ruins,  and  led  the  way  readily. 
"  Did  he  know  the  Widow  Laurent's  house?" 

"  Mademoiselle*  Laurent!  Full  well  he  knew  her;  a 
good  pious  soul  was  she,  always  ready  to  die  for  the  truth," 
he  added,  as  he  read  sympathy  in  the  faces  romid;  "  and 
no  doubt  she  had  witnessed  a  good  confession. " 

"  Knew  he  aught  of  the  lady  she  had  lodged?'' 

"  He  knew  nothing  of  ladies.  Something  he  had  heard 
of  the  good  widow  having  sheltered  that  shining  light,  Isaac 
Garden,  quenched,  no  doubt,  in  the  same  destruction;  but 
for  his  part,  he  had  a  daughter  in  one  of  the  isles  out  there, 
who  always  sent  for  him  if  she  susjDCcted  danger  here  on 
the  mainland,  and  he  had  only  returned  to  his  poor  farm  a 
day  or  two  after  Michaelmas.  "  So  saying,  he  led  them  to 
the  threshold  of  a  ruinous  building,  in  the  very  center,  as 
it  were,  of  the  desolation,  and  saicl,  "  That,  gentlemen,  is 
where  the  poor  honest  widow  kept  her  little  shop." 

Black,  burned,  dreary,  lay  the  hospitable  abode.  The 
building  had  fallen,  but  the  beams  of  the  upjjer  floor  had 
fallen  aslant,  so  as  to  shelter  a  portion  of  the  lower  room, 
where  the  red-tile  pavement,  the  hearth  with  the  gray  ashes 
of  the  harmless  home-fire,  some  unbroken  crocks,  a  chain, 
and  a  sahot,  were  still  visible,  making  the  contrast  of  drear- 
iness doubly  mournful. 

Berenger  had  ste23ped  over  the  threshold,  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  as  if  the  ruin  were  a  sacred  place  to  hmi,  and 
stood  gazing  in  a  transfixed,  deadened  way.  The  captain 
asked  where  the  remains  were. 

"  Our  peojjle,"  said  the  old  man  and  the  fisher,  "  laid 
them  by  night  in  the  earth  near  the  church." 

Just  then  Berenger' s  gaze  fell  on  something  half  hidden 
under  the  fallen  timbers.  He  instantly  sprung  forward, 
and  used  all  his  strength  to  drag  it  out  in  so  headlong  a 
manner  that  all  the  rest  hurried  to  prevent  his  reckless  pro- 
ceedings from  brmging  the  heavy  beams  down  on  his  head. 

*  This  was  the  title  of  boir-geoise  wives,  for  many  years,  in  France. 


10  THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEAELS. 

When  brought  to  light,  tlie  object  proved  to  be  one  of  the 
dark,  heavy,  wooden  cradles  used  by  the  French  pleasantry, 
shining  with  age,  but  untouched  by  fixe. 

"Look  in,"  Berenger  signed  to  Philip,  his  own  eyea 
averted,  his  mouth  set. 

The  cradle  was  empty,  totally  empty,  save  for  a  woollen 
covering,  a  little  mattress,  and  a  string  of  small  yellow  sheila 
threaded. 

Berenger  held  out  his  hand,  grasped  the  baby-plaything' 
convulsively,  then  dropjied  upon  his  knees  clasping  his  hands 
over  his  ashy  face,  the  string  of  shells  still  wound  among 
his  fingers.  Perhajis  he  had  hitherto  hardly  realized  the 
existence  of  his  child,  and  was  solely  wrajijied  uj)  in  the 
thought  of  his  wife;  but  the  wooden  cradle,  the  homely  toy, 
stirred  up  fresh  depths  of  feeling;  he  saw  Eustacie  with  her 
tender  sweetness  as  a  mother,  he  beheld  the  little  likeness 
of  her  in  the  cradle;  and  oh!  that  this  should  have  been 
the  end!  "Unable  to  rej)ress  a  moan  of  anguish  from  a 
bursting  heart,  he  laid  his  face  against  the  senseless  wood, 
and  kissed  it  again  and  again,  then  lay  motionless  against 
it  save  for  the  long-drawn  gasjjs  and  sobs  that  shook  his 
frame.  Philip,  torn  to  the  heart,  would  have  almost  for- 
cibly drawn  him  away;  but  Master  Hobbf,  with  tears  run- 
ning down  his  honest  cheeks,  withheld  the  boy.  "  Don't 
ye.  Master  Thistlewood,  "twill,  do  him  good.  Poor  young 
gentleman!  I  know  how  it  was  when  I  came  home  and 
found  our  first  little  lad,  that  we  had  thought  so  much  on, 
had  been  taken.  But  then  he  was  safe  laid  in  his  own 
church-yard,  and  his  mother  was  there  to  meet  me;  while 
your  poor  brother —     Ah!  God  comfort  lum!'" 

"  Xc  pauvre  monsieur  I"  exclaimed  the  old  peasant, 
struck  at  the  sight  of  his  grief,  "  was  it  then  his  chikl?  And 
he,  no  doubt,  lying  wounded  elsewhere  while  God's  hand 
was  heavy  on  this  place.  Yet  he  might  hear  more.  They 
said  the  priest  came  down  and  carried  ofl:  the  little  ones  to 
be  bred  up  in  convents." 

"  "NYho? — where?"  asked  Berenger,  raising  his  head  as  if 
catching  at  a  straw  in  this  drowning  of  all  his  hopes. 

*'  'Tis  true,"  added  the  fisherman.  "  It  was  the  holy 
priest  of  Nissard,  for  he  sent  down  to  St.  Julienfor  a  wom- 
an to  nurse  the  babes." 

"  To  Nissard,  then,"  said  Berenger,  rising. 

"  It  is  but  a  chance/'  said  the  old  Huguenot;  "  many  of 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS'.  11 

the  innocents  were  with  their  mothers  in  yonder  church. 
Better  for  them  to  perish  like  tlie  babes  of  Bethlehem  than 
to  be  bred  up  in  the  house  of  Baal;  but  jierhaps  monsieur 
is  English,  and  if  so  ho  might  yet  obtain  the  child.  Yet 
he  must  not  hojoe  too  much." 

"  No,  for  there  was  many  a  little  corpse  among  those  we 
buried,"  said  the  fisher.  "Will  the  gentleman  seethe 
place?" 

"  Oh,  no!"  exclaimed  PhiliiJ,  imderstanding  the  actions, 
and  indeed  many  of  the  words;  "  this  place  will  kill  him." 
"  To  the  grave, '^  said  Berenger,  as  if  he  heard  nothiiig. 
"  See/'  added  Phili]),  "  there  are  better  things  than 
graves, "  and  he  pointed  to  a  3'oung  green  sucker  of  a  vine, 
which,  stimulated  by  the  burned  soil,  had  shot  up  between 
the  tiles  of  the  floor.  "  Look,  there  is  hope  to  meet  you 
even  here. " 

Berenger  merely  answered  by  gathering  a  leaf  from  the 
vine  and  putthig  it  into  his  bosom ;  and  Philip,  whom  only 
extreme  need  could  have  thus  inspired,  perceived  that  he 
accepted  it  as  the  augury  of  hojje. 

Berenger  turned  to  bid  the  two  men  bear  the  cradle  with 
them,  and  then  followed  the  old  man  out  into  the  25lace, 
once  a  j)leasant  ojjen  jiaved  square,  now  grass-grown  and 
forlorn.  On  one  side  lay  the  remains  of  the  church.  The 
Huguenots  had  been  so  j^redominant  at  La  Sablerie  as  to 
have  engrossed  the  building,  and  it  had  therefore  shared 
the  general  destruction,  and  lay  in  utter,  desolate  ruin,  a 
mere  shell,  and  the  once  noble  sjiire,  the  mariner's  guiding 
star,  blown  up  with  gunpowder  in  the  lawless  rage  of  An- 
jou's  army,  one  of  the  most  cruel  that  ever  desolated  the 
country.  Beyond  lay  the  burial-ground,  in  unspeakable 
dreariness.  The  crosses  of  the  Catholic  dead  had  been  lev- 
eled by  the  fanaticism  of  the  Huguenots,  and  though  a 
great  dominant  stone  cross  raised  on  stejjs  had  been  re- 
erected,  it  stood  uneven,  tottering,  and  desolate  among 
nettles,  weeds,  and  briers.  There  seemed  to  have  been  a 
few  deep  trenches  dug  to  receive  the  bodies  of  the  many 
victims  of  the  siege,  and  only  rudely  and  slightly  lilled  in 
with  loose  earth,  on  which  Philijo  treading  had  nearly  sunk 
in,  so  much  to  his  horror  that  he  could  hardly  endure  the 
long  contemplation  in  Avhich  his  brother  stood  gazing  on 
the  dismal  scene,  as  if  to  bear  it  away  with  him.  Did  the 
fair  being  he  had  left  in  a  king's  palace  sleep  her  last  sleep 


12  THE  CHAPLET  OF  TEARLS. 

amid  the  tangled  grass,  the  thistles  and  briers  that  grew  so 
close  that  it  was  hardly  possible  to  keep  from  stumbling 
over  them,  where  all  memorials  of  friend  or  foe  were  alike 
obliterated?  Was  a  resting-place  among  these  nameless 
graves  the  best  he  could  hojje  for  the  wife  whose  eyes  he 
had  hoped  by  this  time  would  be  answering  his  own — was 
this  her  shelter  from  foe,  from  sword,  famine,  and  fire? 

A  great  sea-bird,  swooping  along  with  broad  wings  and 
wild  wailing  cry,  completed  the  weird  dismay  that  had 
seized  on  Philip,  and  clutching  at  his  brother's  cloak,  he 
exclaimed,  ''  Berry,  Berry,  let  us  be  gone,  or  we  shall  both 
be  distraught!'' 

Berenger  yielded  joassivcly,  but  when  the  ruins  of  the 
town  had  been  again  crossed,  and  the  sad  little  party,  after 
amply  rewarding  the  old  man,  were  about  to  return  to  St. 
Julien,  he  stood  still,  saying,  "  Which  is  the  way  to  Nis- 
sard?"  and,  as  the  men  pointed  to  the  south,  he  added, 
'  Show  me  the  way  thither." 

Captain  Hobbs  now  interfered.  He  knew  the  position 
of  Nissard,  among  dangerous  sand-banks,  between  which  a 
boat  could  only  venture  at  the  higher  tides,  and  by  day- 
light. To  go  the  six  miles  thither  at  present  would  make 
it  almost  impossible  to  return  to  the  "Throstle"  that 
night,  and  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  he  at  least 
should  do  this.  He  therefore  wished  the  young  gentleman 
to  return  with  him  on  board,  sleep  there,  and  be  jiut  ashore 
at  Nissard  as  soon  as  it  should  be  2)ossible  in  the  morning. 
But  Berenger  shook  his  head.  He  could  not  rest  for  a  mo- 
ment till  he  had  ascertained  the  fate  of  Eustacie's  child. 
Action  alone  could  quench  the  horror  of  what  he  had  recog- 
nized as  her  own  lot,  and  the  very  pursuit  of  this  one 
thread  of  hope  seemed  needful  to  him  to  make  it  sub- 
stantial. He  would  hear  of  nothing  but  walking  at  once 
to  Nissard;  and  Captain  Hobbs,  finding  it  impossible  to 
debate  the  point  with  one  so  dazed  and  crushed  with  grief, 
and  learning  from  the  fishermen  that  not  only  was  the 
priest  one  of  the  kindest  and  most  hospitable  men  living, 
but  that  there  was  a  tolerable  ciihdrct  not  far  from  the 
house,  selected  from  the  loiterers  wb.o  had  accompanied 
them  from  8t.  Julien  a  trustworthy-looking,  active  lad  as 
a  guide,  and  agreed  with  Philip  to  come  to  Nissard  in  his 
boat  with  the  high  tide  on  the  morrow,  either  to  concert 
measures  for  obtaining  ]jossession  of  the  lost  infant,  or,  if 


THE    CIIArLET    OF    TEAIILS.  13 

all  were  in  vain,  to  fetch  them  ofF.  Then  he,  with  the 
mass  of  stragglers  from  St.  Julicii,  went  off  direct  for  the 
coast,  while  the  two  young  brothers,  their  two  attendants, 
and  the  fishermen,  turned  southward  along  the  summit  of 
the  dreary  sand-banks. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   GOOD   PKIEST  OF  NISSAED, 

Till  at  the  set  of  sun  all  tracks  and  ways 

In  darkness  lay  enshrouded.     And  e'en  thus 

The  utmost  limit  of  the  great  profound 

At  length  we  reach'd,  where  in  dark  gloom  and  mist 

Cimmeria's  people  and  their  city  lie 

Enveloped  ever. 

Odyuey  (Musgrove). 

The  October  afternoon  had  set  in  before  the  brothers 
were  on  the  way  to  Nissard;  and  in  spite  of  Berenger's  ex- 
cited mood,  the  walk  through  the  soft,  sinking  sand  could 
not  be  speedily  performed.  It  was  that  peculiar  sand-drift 
which  is  the  curse  of  so  many  coasts,  slowly,  silently, 
irresistibly  flowing,  blowing,  creeping  in,  and  gradually 
choking  all  vegetation  and  habitation.  Soft  and  almost 
impalpable,  it  lay  heaj^ed  in  banks  yielding  as  air,  and  yet 
far  more  than  deej)  enough  to  swallow  up  man  and  horse. 
Nay,  tops  of  trees,  summits  of  chimneys,  told  what  it  had 
already  swallowed.  The  whole  scene  far  and  wide  present- 
ed nothing  but  the  lone,  tame  undulations,  liable  to  be 
changed  by  every  wind,  and  solitary  beyond  expression — a 
few  rabbits  scudding  hither  and  thither,  or  a  sea-gull  float- 
ing with  white,  ghostly  wings  in  the  air,  being  the  only  liv- 
ing things  visible.  On  the  one  hand  a  dim,  purple  horizon 
showed  that  the  inhabited  country  lay  miles  inland;  on  the 
other  lay  the  pale,  gray,  misty  expanse  of  sea,  on  which 
Philip^s  e^^es  could  lovingly  discern  the  "  Throstle's  " 
masts. 

That  view  was  Philip^s  chief  comfort.  The  boy  was  feel- 
ing more  eerie  and  uncomfortable  than  ever  he  had  been 
before  as  ho  plodded  along,  sinking  deep  with  every  step 
almost  up  to  his  ankles  in  the  sand,  on  which  the  barefoot- 
ed guide  ran  lightly,  and  Berangcr,  though  sinking  no  less 
deeply,  seemed   insensible    to  all  inconveniences.      This 


14  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

flesolateness  was  well-nigli  unbearable;  no  one  tlarcd  to 
S2)eak  while  Beranger  thus  moved  on  in  the  iinapproach- 
ableness  of  his  great  grief,  and  Philip  presently  began  to 
feel  a  dreamy  sense  that  they  had  all  thus  been  moving  on 
for  years,  that  this  was  the  world's  end,  the  land  of 
shadows,  and  that  his  brother  was  a  ghost  already.  Be- 
sides vague  alarms  like  these,  there  was  the  dismal  English 
and  Protestant  prejudice  in  full  force  in  Philip's  mind, 
which  regarded  the  jd resent  ground  as  necessarily  hostile, 
and  all  Frenchmen,  above  all  French  priests,  as  in  league 
to  cut  oft:  every  Englishman  and  Protestant.  lie  believed 
himself  in  a  country  full  of  murderers,  and  was  walking  on 
with  the  one  determination  that  his  brother  should  not  rush 
on  dangei  without  him,  and  that  the  Popish  rogues  should 
be  kept  in  mind  that  there  was  an  English  ship  in  sight. 
Alas!  that  consolation  was  soon  lost,  for  a  dense  gray  mist 
was  slowly  creeping  in  from  the  sea,  and  blotted  out  the 
vessel,  then  gathered  in  closer,  and  obliterated  all  land- 
marks. Gradually  it  turned  to  a  heavy  rain,  and  about  the 
same  time  the  ground  on  wliich  they  walked  became  no 
longer  loose  sand-hills,  but  smooth  and  level.  It  was 
harder  likewise  from  the  wet,  and  this  afforded  better  walk- 
ing, but  there  lay  upon  it  fragments  of  weed  and  shell,  as 
though  it  were  liable  to  be  covered  by  the  sea,  and  there 
was  a  low,  languid  plash  of  the  tide,  which  could  not  be 
seen.  Twilight  began  to  deepen  the  mist.  The  guide  was 
evidently  uneasy;  he  sidled  up  to  Philip,  and  began  to  ask 
what  he — hitherto  oljstinately  deaf  and  contemptuous  to 
French — was  very  slow  to  comj)rehend.  At  last  he  found 
it  was  a  question  how  near  it  was  to  All  Soul's-day;  and 
then  came  an  equally  amazing  query  whether  the  gentle- 
man's babe  had  been  baptized;  for  it  appeared  that  on  All 
Souls'-day  the  spirits  of  unchristened  infants  had  the  jDOwer 
of  rising  from  the  sands  in  a  bewildering  mist,  and  leading 
wayfarers  into  the  sea.  And  the  j^oor  guide,  white  and 
drenched,  vowed  he  never  would  have  undertaken  this  walk 
if  he  had  only  thought  of  this.  These  slaughters  of 
heretics  must  so  much  have  augmented  the  number  of  the 
poor  little  sjiirits;  and  no  doubt  monsieur  would  be  specially 
bewildered  by  one  so  nearly  concerned  with  him.  Phih'p, 
half  frightened,  could  not  help  stepping  forward  and  pull- 
ing Berenger  by  the  cloak  to  make  him  aware  of  this 
strange  peril;  but  he  did  not  get  much  comfort.     "  Bap- 


THE  '  CUAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  15 

tizecl?  Yes;  you  know  she  was,  by  the  old  nurse.  Let 
me  alone,  I  say.  1  would  follow  her  wherever  she  called 
me,  the  mnocent,  and  glad — the  sooner  the  better.'^ 

And  he  shook  his  brother  off  with  a  sadness  and  impa- 
tience so  utterly  unapproachable,  that  Philip,  poor  boy, 
could  only  watch  his  tall  figure  in  the  wide  cloak  and 
slouched  hat,  stalking  on  ever  more  indistinct  in  the  gloom, 
while  his  much  confused  mind  tried  to  settle  the  theologicy,! 
jDoint  whether  the  old  nurse's  baptism  were  valid  enough 
to  prevent  2)oor  little  Berangere  from  becoming  one  of 
these  mischievous  deluders;  and  all  this  was  varied  by  the 
notion  of  Captain  Hobbs  picking  up  their  corpses  on  the 
beach,  and  of  Sir  Marmaduke  bewailing  his  only  son. 

At  last  a  strange  muffled  sound  made  him  start  in  the 
dead  silence,  but  the  guide  hailed  the  sound  with  a  joyful 
cry— 

"  Hola!  Blessings  on  Notre  Dame  and  holy  Father 
Colombeau,  now  are  we  saved!"  And  on  Philip's  hasty 
interrogation,  he  explained  that  it  was  from  the  bells  of 
Nissard,  which  the  good  priest  always  caused  to  be  rung 
during  these  sea-fogs,  to  disperse  all  evil  beings,  and  guide 
the  wanderers. 

The  guide  strode  on  manfully,  as  the  sound  became 
clearer  and  nearer,  and  Philip  was  infinitely  relieved  to  be 
free  from  all  supernatural  anxieties,  and  to  have  merely  to 
guard  against  the  wiles  of  a  Pojiish  priest — a  being  almost 
as  fabulously  endowed  in  his  imagination  as  j30or  little  Be- 
rengere's  soul  could  be  in  that  of  the  fisherman. 

The  drenching  Atlantic  mist  had  wetted  them  all  to  the 
skin,  and  closed  round  them  so  like  a  solid  wall,  that  they 
had  almost  lost  sight  of  each  other,  and  had  nothing  but 
the  bells'  voices  to  comfort  them,  till  quite  suddenly  there 
was  a  light  upon  the  mist,  a  hazy  reddish  gleam — a  window 
seemed  close  to  them.  The  guide,  heartily  thanking  Our 
Lady  and  St.  Julian,  knocked  at  a  door,  which  opened  at 
once  into  a  warm,  bright,  superior  sort  of  kitchen,  where  a 
neatly  dressed  elderly  j)easant  woman  exclaimed,  "  Wel- 
come, poor  souls!  Enter,  then.  Here,  good  father,  are 
some  bewildered  creatures.  Eh!  wrecked  are  you,  good 
folks,  or  lost  in  the  fog?" 

At  the  same  moment  there  came  from  behind  the  screen 
that  shut  olf  the  fire  from  the  door,  a  benignant-looking. 


16  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PRARLS. 

halo  old  man  in  a  cassock,  with  long  white  hair  on  his 
shoulders,  and  a  cheerful  face,  ruddy  from  the  sea-wind. 

"Welcome,  my  friends,"  he  said.  "Ilianks  to  the 
saints  who  liave  guided  you  safely.  You  are  drenched. 
Come  to  the  fire  at  once. " 

And  as  they  moved  on  into  the  full  light  of  the  fire  and 
the  rude  iron  lamp  by  which  he  had  been  reading,  and  he 
saw  the  draggled  plumes  and  other  appurtenances  that 
marked  the  two  youths  as  gentlemen,  he  added,  "  Are  you 
wrecked,  messieurs?  AVe  will  do  our  poor  best  for  your  ac- 
commodation;" and  while  both  mechanically  murmured  a 
word  of  'thanks,  and  removed  their  soaked  hats,  the  good 
num  exclaimed,  as  he  beheld  Berenger's  ashy  face,  with  the 
snnken  eyes  and  deep  scars,  "  Monsieur  should  come  to  bed 
at  once.  He  is  apparently  recovering  from  a  severe 
wound.  This  way,  sir;  Jolitte  shall  make  you  some  hot 
tisane. " 

"  Wait,  sir,"  said  Berenger,  very  slowly,  and  his  voice 
sounding  hollow  from  exhaustion;  "  they  say  that  you  can 
tell  me  of  my  child.     Let  me  hear.'' 

"  Monsieur's  child!"  exclaimed  the  bewildered  curate, 
looking  from  him  to  Philip,  and  then  to  the  guide,  who 
poured  out  a  whole  stream  of  explanation  before  Philip  had 
arranged  three  words  of  French. 

"You  hear,  sir,"  said  Berenger,  as  the  man  finished: 
"  I  came  hither  to  seek  my  wife,  the  Lady  of  Ribaumont. " 

"Eh!"  exclaimed  the  cure,  "do  I  then  sec  Monsieur  le 
Marvquis  de  Nid -de-Merle?" 

"  No!"  cried  Berenger;  "  no,  I  am  not  that  sceJerat  !  I 
am  her  true  husband,  the  Baron  de  Eibaumont.  " 

"  The  Baron  de  Eibaumont  perished  at  the  St.  Bartholo- 
mew," said  the  cui^e,  fixing  his  eyes  on  him,  as  though  to 
confute  an  impostor. 

"  Ah,  would  that  I  had!"  said  Berenger.  "  I  was  barely 
saved  with  the  life  that  is  but  misery  now.  I  came  to  seek 
her — I  found  what  you  know.  They  told  me  that  you 
saved  the  children.  Ah,  tell  me  where  mine  is? — all  that 
is  left  me." 

"  A  few  poor  babes  I  was  jjermitted  to  rescue,  but  very 
few.  But  let  me  miderstand  to  whom  I  speak,"  he  added, 
much  perplexed.     "  You,  sir — " 

"  I  am  her  husband,  married  at  five  years  old — contract 
r"iewed  last  year.     It  was  he  whom  you  call  Nid-de-Merle 


THE  chapleT  of  pearls.  llf 

who  fell  on  me,  and  left  me  for  dead.  A  faithful  servant 
saved  my  life,  but  I  have  lain  sick  in  England  till  now, 
when  her  letter  to  my  mother  brought  me  to  La  Sablerie, 
to  tind — to  find  this.  Oh,  sii*,  have  pity  on  me!  Tell  me 
if  you  know  anything  of  her,  or  if  you  can  give  me  her 
child  ?'^ 

"  The  orphans  I  was  able  to  save  are — the  boys  at  nurse 
here,  the  giids  with  the  good  nuns  at  Lucon,"  said  the 
priest,  with  infinite  pity  in  his  look.  "  Should  you  know 
It,  sir?" 

"  I  would — I  should,"  said  Berenger.  "  But  it  is  a  girl. 
Ah,  would  that  it  were  here!  But  you — you,  sir — you 
know  more  than  these  fellows.  Is  there  no — no  hope  of 
herself?" 

"Alas!  I  fear  I  can  give  you  none, "  said  the  priest; 
"  but  I  will  tell  all  I  know;  only  I  would  fain  see  you  eat, 
rest,  and  be  dried." 

"  How  can  1?"  gasped  he,  allowing  himself,  however, 
to  sink  into  a  chair;  and  the  jjriest  spoke: 

"  Perhaps  you  know,  sir,  that  the  poor  lady  fled  from 
her  friends,  and  threw  herself  upon  the  Huguenots.  All 
trace  had  been  lost,  when,  at  a  banquet  given  by  the  Mayor 
of  Lucon,  there  appeared  some  2Jatisscries,  which  some 
ecclesiastics,  who  had  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  Bellaise, 
recognized  as  peculiar  to  the  convent  there,  Mhere  she  had 
been  brought  up.  They  were  presented  to  the  mayor  by 
his  friend,  Bailli  la  Grasse,  who  had  boasted  of  the  excel- 
lent coiifitun'S  of  the  heretic  pastor's  daughter  that  lodged 
in  the  town  of  La  Sablerie.  The  place  was  in  disgrace  for 
having  afl'orded  shelter  and  supplies  to  Montgomery's  pirate 
crews,  and  there  were  narrations  of  outrages  committed  on 
Catholics.  The  army  were  enraged  by  their  failure  before 
La  Kochelle;  in  effect,  it  was  resolved  to  make  an  example, 
when  on  Moiisieur  de  Nid-de-Merle's  summons,  all  knowl- 
edge of  the  lady  was  denied.  Is  it  possible  that  she  was 
indeed  not  there?" 

Berenger  shook  his  head.  "  She  was  indeed  there,  *^  he 
said,  with  an  irrepressible  groan.  "  Was  there  no  mercy 
— none?" 

"Ask  not,  sir,"  said  the  comjiassionate  priest;  "the 
flesh  shrinks,  though  there  may  be  righteous  justice.  A 
pillaged  town,  when  men  are  enniged,  is  like  a  place  of 
devils  unchained.     I  reached  it  only  after  it  had  been  takea 


18  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS, 

by  assault,  when  all  was  flame  and  blood.  Ask  me  no 
more;  it  would  be  worse  for  yon  to  hear,  than  me  to  tell," 
he  concluded,  shuddering,  but  laying  his  hand  kindly  on 
Berenger's  arm.  "  At  least  it  is  ended  now,  and  God  is 
moi'e  merciful  than  men.  Many  died  by  the  bombs  cast 
into  the  city,  and  she  for  whom  you  ask  certainly  fell  not 
alive  into  the  hands  of  those  who  souglit  her.  Take  com- 
fort, sir;  there  is  One  who  watches  and  takes  count  of  our 
griefs.  Sir,^'  turning  to  Philip,  "  this  gentleman  is  too 
much  spent  with  sorrow  to  bear  this  cold  and  damp.  Aid 
me,  I  entreat,  to  persuade  him  to  lie  down." 

Philijo  understood  the  priest's  French  far  better  than 
that  of  the  j^easants,  and  added  persuasions  that  Berenger 
was  far  too  much  exhausted  and  stunned  to  resist.  To 
spend  a  night  in  a  Poj^ish  priest's  house  would  once  have 
seemed  to  Pliilij)  a  shocking  alternative,  yet  here  he  was, 
heartily  assisting  in  removing  the  wet  garments  in  which 
his  brother  had  sat  only  too  long,  and  was  heartily  relieved 
to  lay  him  down  in  the  priest's  own  bed,  even  though  there 
was  an  image  over  the  head,  which,  indeed,  the  boy  never 
saw.  He  only  saw  his  brother  turn  away  from  the  light 
with  a  low,  heavy  moan,  as  if  he  would  fain  be  left  alone 
with  his  sorrow  and  his  crushed  hopes. 

Nothing  could  be  kinder  than  Dom  Colombeau,  the 
priest  of  Nissard.  He  saw  to  the  whole  of  his  guests  being 
put  into  some  sort  of  dry  habiliments  before  they  sat  round 
his  table  to  eat  of  the  savory  mess  in  the  great  pot-au-feu, 
which  had,  since  their  arrival,  received  additional  in- 
gredients, and  moreover  sundry  villagers  had  crept  into  the 
house.  Whenever  the  good  father  sujjped  at  home,  any  of 
his  flock  were  welcome  to  drop  in  to  enjoy  his  hospitality. 
After  a  cup  of  hot  cider  round,  they  carried  off  the  fisher- 
man to  lodge  in  one  of  their  cottages.  Shake-downs  were 
found  for  the  others,  and  Philip,  wondering  what  was  to 
become  of  the  good  host  himself,  gathered  that  he  meant 
to  spend  such  part  of  the  night  on  the  kitchen-floor  as  he 
did  not  pass  in  prayer  in  the  church  for  the  jDOor  young 
gentleman,  who  was  in  such  affliction.  Philij)  was  not  cer- 
tain whether  to  resent  this  as  an  impertinence  or  an  attack 
on  their  Protestant  principles;  but  he  was  not  sure,  either, 
tluit  the  2)riest  was  aware  what  was  their  religion,  and  was 
still  less  certain  ol:  his  own  comprehension  of  these  pious 
intentions;  he  decided  that,  any  way,  it  was  better  not  to 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  19 

make  a  fool  of  himself.  Still,  the  notion  of  the  mischiev- 
ousness  of  priests  was  so  rooted  in  his  head,  that  he  con- 
sulted Ilunifrey  on  the  expediency  of  Iceeping  watch  all 
night,  but  was  sagaciously  answered  that  "  these  French 
rogues  don't  do  any  hurt  unless  they  be  brought  u])  to  it, 
and  the  place  was  as  safe  as  old  Hurst." 

In  fact,  Philip's  vigilance  would  have  been  strongly 
against  nature.  He  never  awoke  till  full  daylight  and 
morning  sun  were  streaming  through  the  vine-leaves  round 
the  window,  and  then,  to  his  dismay,  he  saw  that  Berenger 
had  left  his  bod,  and  was  gone.  Suspicions  of  foul  play 
coming  over  him  in  full  force  as  he  gazed  round  on  much 
that  he  considered  as  "  Popish  furniture,"  he  threw  on  his 
clothes,  and  hastened  to  open  the  door,  when,  to  his  great 
relief,  he  saw  Berenger  hastily  writing  at  a  table  under  the 
window,  and  Smithers  standing  by  waiting  for  the  billet. 

"  I  am  sending  Smithers  on  board,  to  ask  Hobbs  to  bring 
our  cloak  bags,"  said  Berenger,  as  his  brother  entered. 
*'  We  must  go  on  to  Lucon. " 

He  spoke  briefly  and  decidedly,  and  Philip  was  satisfied 
to  see  him  quite  calm  and  collected — white  indeed,  and 
with  the  old  haggard  look,  and  the  great  scar  very  purple 
instead  of  red,  which  was  always  a  bad  sign  with  him.  He 
was  not  disposed  to  answer  questions;  he  shortly  said,  "  He 
had  slept  not  less  than  usual,"  which  Philip  knew  meant 
very  little;  and  he  had  evidently  made  up  his  mind,  and 
was  resolved  not  to  let  himself  give  way.  If  his  beacon  of 
hope  had  been  so  suddenly,  frightfully  quenched,  he  still 
was  kept  from  utter  darkness  by  straining  his  eyes  and  forc- 
ing'his  steps  to  follow  the  tiny,  flickering  spark  that  re- 
mained. 

The  priest  was  at  his  morning  mass;  and  so  soon  as  Be- 
renger had  given  his  note  to  Smithers,  and  sent  him  off  with 
a  fisherman  to  the  "  Throstle,"  he  took  uj)  his  hat,  and 
went  ont  upon  the  beach,  that  lay  glistening  in  the  morn- 
ing sun,  then  turned  straight  toward  the  tall  spire  of  the 
church,  which  had  been  their  last  night's  guide.  Philip 
caught  his  cloak. 

"  You  are  never  going  there,  Berenger?" 

"  Vex  me  not  now,"  was  all  the  reply  he  got.  "  There 
the  dead  and  living  meet  together. " 

"  But,  brother,  they  will  take  you  for  one  of  their  own 
sort." 


20  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS. 

"Let  them.'; 

Philip  was  right  that  it  was  neither  a  prudent  nor  con- 
sistent proceeding,  but  Berenger  had  little  power  of  reflec- 
tion, and  his  impulse  at  present  bore  him  into  the  church 
belonging  to  his  native  faith  and  land,  without  any  defined 
feeling,  save  that  it  was  peace  to  kneel  there  among  the 
scattered  worshipers,  who  came  and  went  with  their  fish- 
baskets  in  their  lianc>s,  and  to  hear  the  low  chant  of  the 
jiricst  and  liis  assistant  from  within  the  screen. 

Philip  meantime  marched  up  and  down  outside  in  much 
annoyance,  until  the  priest  and  his  brother  came  ont,  when 
the  first  thing  he  heard  the  good  Colombeau  say  was,  "  I 
would  have  called  upon  you  before,  my  son,  but  that  I 
feared  you  were  a  Huguenot." 

"lam  an  English  Protestant,"  said  Berenger;  "but, 
ah!  sir,  I  needed  comfort  too  much  to  stay  away  from 
jirayer. " 

Pere  Colombeau  looked  at  him  in  perplexity,  thinking 
jierhaps  that  here  might  be  a  promising  convert,  if  there 
were  only  time  to  work  on  him;  but  Berenger  quitted  the 
subject  at  once,  asking  the  distance  to  Lucon. 

"  A  full  day's  journey,"  answ^ered  Pere  Colombeau,  and 
added,  "  I  am  sorry  you  are  indeed  a  Huguenot.  It 
was  what  I  feared  last  night,  but  I  feared  to  add  to  your 
grief.  The  nuns  are  not  permitted  to  deliver  uj)  children 
to  Huguenot  relations." 

"  I  am  her  father!"  exclaimed  Berenger,  indignantly. 

"  That  goes  for  nothing,  according  to  the  rules  of  the 
Church,"  said  the  priest.  "  The  Church  cannot  yield  her 
children  to  heresy. " 

"But  we  in  England  are  not  Calvinists,"  cried  Berenger. 
"  We  are  not-like  your  Huguenots." 

"The  Church  would  make  no  difference,"  said  the 
priest.  "  Stay,  sir,"  as  Berenger  struck  his  own  forehead, 
and  was  about  to  utter  a  fierce  invective.  "  Pemember 
that  if  your  cliild  lives,  it  is  owing  to  the  pity  of  the  good 
nuns.  You  seem  not  far  from  the  bosom  of  the  Church. 
Did  you  but  return — " 

"  It  is  vain  to  speak  of  that,"  said  Berenger,  quickly. 
"  Say,  sir,  would  an  order  from  the  king  avail  to  open  these 
doors?" 

"  Of  course  it  would,  if  you  have  the  influence  to  obtain 
one. " 


THE    OIIATLKT    OP    fEAllLS.  SI 

"  I  have,  I  have/'  cried  Berenger,  eagerly.  "  The  king 
has  been  my  good  friend  already.  Moreover,  my  English 
grandfather  will  deal  with  the  queen.  The  heiress  of  our 
house  can  not  be  left  in  a  foreign  nunnery.  Say,  sir, "  he 
added,  turning  to  the  priest,  "  if  I  went  to  Lucon  at  once, 
would  they  answer  me  and  let  me  see  my  child?" 

The  priest  considered  a  moment,  and  answered,  "  No, 
sir,  I  think  not.  The  prioress  is  a  holy  woman,  very  strict, 
and  with  a  horror  of  heretics.  8he  came  from  the  convent 
of  Bellaise,  and  would  therefore  at  once  know  your  name, 
and  refuse  all  dealings  with  you. " 

"  She  could  not  do  so,  if  I  brought  an  order  from  the 
king. "" 

"  Certainly  not. " 

'*  Then  to  Paris!"  And  laying  his  hand  on  Philip's 
shoulder,  he  asked  the  boy  whether  he  had  understood,  and 
explained  that  he  must  go  at  once  to  Paris — riding-2)ost — 
and  obtain  the  order  from  the  king. 

"  To  Paris — to  be  murdered  again!"  said  Philip,  in  dis- 
may. 

"  They  do  not  spend  their  time  there  in  murder,"  said 
Berenger.  "  And  now  is  the  time,  while  the  savage  villain 
Narcisse  is  with  his  master  in  Pohind.  I  can  not  but  go, 
Philip;  we  both  waste  words.  You  shall  take  home  a  let- 
ter to  my  lord. " 

"  I — I  go  not  home  without  you,"  said  Philip,  doggedly. 

"  I  can  not  take  you,  Phil;  I  have  no  warrant. " 

"  I  have  warrant  for  going,  though.  My  father  said  he 
was  easier  about  you  with  me  at  your  side.  Where  you  go, 
I  go." 

The  brothers  understood  each  other's  ways  so  well,  that 
Berenger  knew  the  intonation  in  Philip's  voice  that  meant 
that  nothing  should  make  him  give  way.  He  persuaded 
no  more,  only  took  measures  for  the  journey,  iji  which  the 
kind  priest  gave  him  friendly  advice.  There  was  no  doubt 
that  the  good  man  pitied  him  sincerely,  and  wished  him 
success  more  than  perhaps  he  strictly  ought  to  have  done, 
miless  as  a  possible  convert.  Of  money  for  the  journej' 
there  was  no  lack,  for  Berenger  had  brought  a  considerable 
sum,  intending  to  reward  all  who  had  befriended  Eustacie, 
as  well  as  to  fit  her  out  for  the  voyage;  and  this,  i)erhaps, 
with  his  papers,  he  had  brought  ashore  to  facilitate  his  en- 
trance into  La  Sablerie — that  entrance  which,  alas!  he  had 


2S  The    CfiATLEt    OF    PEAllLS. 

found  only  too  easy.  lie  had  therefore  only  to  obtain 
horses  and  a  guide,  and  this  could  be  done  at  La  Motte- 
Acliard,  where  the  party  could  easily  be  guided  on  foot,  or 
conveyed  in  a  boat  if  the  fog  should  not  set  in  again,  but 
all  the  coast-line  of  Nissard  was  dangerous  in  autumn  and 
winter;  nay,  even  tbis  very  August  an  old  man,  with  his 
daughter,  her  infant,  and  a  donkey,  had  been  found  bewil- 
dered between  the  creeks  on  a  sand-bank,  where  they  stood 
still  and  patient,  like  a  picture  of  the  Flight  into  Eg3^pt, 
when  an  old  fisherman  found  them,  and  brought  them  to 
the  beneficent  shelter  of  the  Presbytere. 

Stories  of  this  kind  were  told  at  the  meal  that  was  some- 
thing partaking  of  the  iiature  of  both  breakfast  and  early 
dinner,  but  wlicre  Berenger  eat  little  and  spoke  less. 
Philip  watched  him  anxiously;  the  boy  thought  the  jour- 
ney a  perilous  experiment  every  way,  but,  1)oyishly,  was  re- 
solved neither  to  own  his  fears  of  it  nor  to  leave  his  brother. 
External  perils  he  was  quite  ready  to  face,  and  he  fancied 
that  his  English  birth  would  give  him  some  power  of  pro- 
tecting Berenger,  but  he  was  more  reasonably  in  dread  of 
the  present  shock  bringing  on  such  an  illness  as  the  last  re- 
lapse; and  if  Berenger  lost  his  senses  again,  what  should 
they  do?  He  even  ventured  to  hint  at  this  danger,  but 
Berenger  answered,  "  That  will  scarce  happen  again.  My 
head  is  stronger  now.  Besides,  it  was  doing  nothing,  and 
hearing  her  truth  profaned,  that  crazed  me.  No  one  at 
least  will  do  that  again.  But  if  you  wish  to  drive  me  fran- 
tic again,  the  way  would  be  to  let  Ilobbs  carry  me  home 
without  seeking  her  child.  " 

Phihp  bore  this  in  mind  when,  with  flood-tide.  Master 
Hobbs  landed,  and  showed  himself  utterly  dismayed  at  the 
turn  affairs  had  taken.  lie  saw  the  needlessness  of  going 
to  Lucon  without  royal  autliority;  indeed,  he  thought  it 
possible  that  the  very  apjjlication  there  might  give  the 
alarm,  and  cause  all  tokens  of  the  child's  identity  to  be  de- 
stroyed, in  order  to  save  her  from  her  heretic  relations. 
But  he  did  not  at  all  ai:)prove  of  the  young  gentlemen  going 
off  to  Paris  at  once.  It  was  against  his  orders.  He  felt 
bound  to  take  them  home  as  he  had  brought  them,  and 
they  might  then  make  a  fresh  start  if  it  so  pleased  them; 
but  how  could  he  return  to  my  lord  and  Sir  Duke  without 
them?  "  Mr.  Eibaumont  might  bo  right — it  was  not  for 
him  to  say  a  father  ought  not  to  look  after  his  child — yet 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  23 

he  was  but  a  stripling  himself ^  and  my  lord  had  said,  '  Mas- 
ter Ilobbs,  I  trust  him  to  you/  "  He  would  clearly  have 
liked  to  have  called  in  a  boat^s  crew,  mastered  the  young 
gentlemen,  and  carried  them  on  board  as  captives;  but  as 
this  was  out  of  his  jjower,  he  was  obliged  to  yield  the  point. 
He  disconsolately  accepted  the  letters  in  which  Berenger 
had  explained  all,  and  in  which  he  promised  to  go  at  once 
to  Sir  Francis  Walsingham^s  at  Paris,  to  run  into  no  need- 
less danger,  and  to  watch  carefully  over  Philip;  and  craved 
pardon,  in  a  respectful  but  yet  manly  and  determined  tone, 
for  placing  his  duty  to  his  lost,  deserted  child  above  his 
submission  to  his  grandfather.  Then  engaging  to  look  out 
for  a  signal  on  the  coast  if  he  should  sail  to  I3ordeai]x  in 
January,  to  touch  and  take  the  jDassengers  off.  Captain 
Hobbs  took  leave,  and  the  brothers  were  left  to  their  own 
resources. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    VELVET    COACH. 

No,  my  good  Lord,  Diana — 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 

A  LATE  autumn  journey  from  the  west  coast  to  I'aris  was 
a  more  serious  undertaking  in  the  sixteenth  century  than 
the  good  seaman  Master  Hobbs  was  aware  of,  or  he  would 
have  used  stronger  dissuasive  measures  against  such  an 
undertaking  by  the  two  youths,  when  the  elder  was  in  so 
frail  a  state  of  health;  but  there  had  been  a  certain  decep- 
tive strength  and  vigor  about  young  Ribaumont  while  under 
strong  excitement  and  determination,  and  the  whole  party 
fancied  him  far  fitter  to  meet  the  bard  ships  than  was  really 
the  case.  Philip  Thistlewood  always  recollected  that  jour- 
ney as  the  most  distressing  period  of  his  life. 

They  were  out  of  the  ordinary  highways,  and  therefore 
found  the  hiring  of  horses  often  extremely  difficult.  They 
had  intended  to  purchase,  but  found  no  animals  that,  as 
Philip  said,  they  would  have  accepted  as  a  gift,  though  at 
every  wretched  inn  where  they  had  to  wait  while  the  coun- 
try was  scoured  for  the  miserable  jades,  their  proposed  re- 
quirements fell  lower  and  lower.  Dens  of  smoke,  dirt, 
and  boorishness  were  the  great  proportion  of  those  inns, 
where  they  were  compelled  to  take  ref  ug,o  by  the  breaking 


24  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS. 

down  of  one  or  otlier  of  the  beasts,  or  bj  stress  of  weather. 
Snow,  rain,  thaw  and  frost  alternated,  each  variety  render- 
ing the  roads  impassable;  and  at  the  best,  the  beasts  could 
seldom  be  nrged  beyond  a  walk,  fetlock-deeji  in  mire  or 
water.  Worse  than  all,  Berenger,  far  from  recovered,  and 
under  the  heavy  oppression  of  a  heartrending  grief,  could 
hardly  fail  to  lose  the  ground  that  he  had  gained  under  the 
influence  of  hope.  The  cold  seemed  to  fix  itself  on  the 
wound  in  his  cheek,  terrible  pain  and  swelling  set  in,  de- 
priving him  entirely  of  sleep,  permitting  him  to  take  no 
nourishment  but  fragments  of  soft  crumbs  soaked  in  wine 
or  broth — when  the  inns  afforded  any  such  fare — and  ren- 
dering speech  excessively  painful,  and  at  last  unintelligible. 

Hap2:)ily  this  was  not  until  Philiji  and  Humfrey  both  had 
picked  up  all  the  most  indispensable  words  to  serve  their 
needs,  and  storming  could  be  done  in  any  language.  Be- 
sides, they  had  fallen  in  at  La  Motte-Achard  with  a  sharp 
fellow  named  Guibert,  who  had  been  at  sea,  and  knew  a  lit- 
tle English,  was  a  Norman  by  birth,  knew  who  tlie  ]3aron 
de  Ribaumont  was,  and  was  able  to  make  himself  generally 
useful,  though  ill  supplying  the  place  of  poor  Osljcrt,  who 
would  have  been  invaluable  in  the  present  jiredicament. 
Nothing  was  so  much  dreaded  by  any  of  the  party  as  that 
their  chief  should  become  utterly  unable  to  proceed.  Oiice 
let  him  be  laid  up  at  one  of  these  little  audergcs,  and  Philip 
felt  as  if  all  would  be  over  with  him;  and  he  himself  was 
always  the  most  restlessly  eager  to  jnish  on,  and  seemed  to 
suffer  less  even  in  the  biting  wind  and  sleet  than  on  the 
dirty  pallets  or  in  the  smoky,  noisy  kitchens  of  the  inns. 
That  there  was  no  wavering  of  consciousness  was  the  only 
comfort,  and  Philip  trusted  to  prevent  this  by  bleeding 
him  whenever  his  head  seemed  aching  or  heated ;  and  under 
this  well-meant  surgery  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  grew 
weaker  every  day,  in  spite  of  the  most  affectionate  and  as- 
siduous watching  on  his  brother's  part. 

Nearly  six  weeks  had  been  spent  in  struggling  along  the 
cross-roads,  or  rather  in  endless  delays:  and  when  at  last 
they  came  on  more  frequented  ways,  with  better  inns,  well- 
paved  eJiai'Ssees,  and  horses  more  fit  for  use,  Berenger  was 
almost  beyond  feeling  the  improvement.  At  their  last 
halt,  even  Philip  was  for  waiting  and  sending  on  to  Paris 
to  inform  Sir  Francis  Walsingham  of  their  situation;  but 
Berenger  only  shook  his  head,  dressed  himself,  and  imper- 


THE    CIIArLET    OF    TEAELS.  25 

atively  signed  to  go  on.  It  was  a  bright  morning,  with  a 
clear  frosty,  and  the  towers  and.  steeples  of  Paris  presently 
began  to  appear  above  the  poplars  that  bordered  the  way; 
but  by  this  time  Berenger  was  reehng  in  his  saddle,  and  ho 
presently  became  so  faint  and  dizzy,  that  Philip  and  Hum- 
frey  were  obliged  to  lift  him  from  his  horse,  and  lay  iiim 
mider  an  elm-tree  that  stood  a  little  back  from  the  road. 

"  Look  up,  sir,  it  is  but  a  league  furtber,"  quoth  Hum- 
frey;  "  I  can  see  the  roof  of  the  big  church  they  call  Notre- 
Dame." 

"  He  does  not  open  his  eyes,  he  is  swooning,"  said  Philip. 
"  He  must  have  some  cordial,  ere  he  can  sit  his  horse. 
Can  you  think  of  no  place  where  we  could  get  a  drop  of 
wine  or  strong  waters?" 

"  Not  I,  Master  Philip.  Wo  passed  a  convent  wall  but 
now,  but  'twas  a  nunnery,  as  good  as  a  grave  against  poor 
travelers.  I  would  ride  on,  and  get  some  of  Sir  Francis's 
folk  to  bring  a  litter  or  coach,  but  I  doubt  me  if  I  could 
get  past  the  barrier  without  my  young  lord's  safe-conduct. " 

Berenger,  hearing  all,  here  nuide  an  effort  to  raise  him- 
self, but  sunk  back  against  Philip's  shoukler.  Just  then, 
a  trampling  and  lumbering  became  audible,  and  on  the 
road  behind  a^jpeared  first  three  horsemen  riding  abreast 
streaming  with  black  and  white  ribbons;  then  eight  pairs  of 
black  horses,  a  man  walking  at  the  crested  heads  of  each 
couple,  and  behind  these  a  coach,  shaped  like  an  urn  re- 
versed, and  with  a  coronet  on  the  top,  silvered,  while  the 
vehicle  itself  was,  melon-like,  fluted,  alternately  black, 
with  silver  figures,  and  white  with  black  landscapes;  and 
with  white  draperies,  em.broidered  with  black  and  silver, 
floating  from  the  windows.  Four  lackeys,  in  the  same 
magpie-coloring,  stood  behind,  and  outriders  followed;  but 
as  the  cavalcade  approached  the  group  by  the  road-side, 
one  of  the  horsemen  paused,  saying  lightly,  "  Over  near 
the  walls  for  an  affair  of  honor?  Has  ho  caught  it  badly? 
Who  was  the  other?" 

Ere  Guibert  could  answer,  the  curtains  were  thrust  aside, 
the  coach  stopped,  a  lady's  head  and  hand  ap2)eared,  and  a 
female  voice  exclaimed,  in  much  alarm,  "  Haiti  Ho,  you 
there,  in  our  colors,  come  here.  What  is  it?  My  brother 
here?     Is  he  wounded?" 

"  It  is  no  wound,  madame,"  said  Guibert,  shoved  for- 
ward by  his  English  comrades,  "  it  is  Monsieur  le  Barou  de 


26  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

Ribaiimont  who  is  taken  ill,  and — all!  here  is  Monsieur 
Philiiipe." 

For  Pliiliio,  seeing  a  thick  black  veil  jHit  back  from  the 
face  of  the  most  beautiful  lady  who  had  ever  a2)peared  to 
him,  stepped  forward,  hat  in  hand,  as  she  exclaimed,  "  Le 
Baron  de  Ivibaumont!  Can  it  be  true?  What  means  this? 
What  ails  him?'' 

"It  is  his  wound,  madame, "  said  Philip,  in  his  best 
French;  "  it  has  broken  out  again,  and  he  has  almost 
dro2")ped  from  his  horse  from  defaUlance." 

"  Ah,  bring  him  here— lay  him  on  the  cushions,  we  will 
have  the  honor  of  transporting  him,''  cried  the  lady;  and, 
regardless  of  the  wet  road,  she  sprung  out  of  the  coach, 
with  her  essences  in  her  hand,  followed  by  at  least  three 
women,  two  pages,  and  two  little  white  dogs  which  ran  bark- 
ing toward  tlie  prostrate  figure,  but  were  caught  uj)  by 
their  pages.  "  Ah,  cousin,  how  dreadful,"  she  cried,  as 
she  knelt  down  beside  him,  and  held  her  essences  toward 
him.  Voice  and  scent  revived  him,  and  with  a  bewildered 
look  and  gesture  half  of  thanks,  half  of  refusal,  he  gazed 
round  him,  then  rose  to  his  feet  without  assistance,  bent 
his  head,  and  making  a  sign  that  he  was  unable  to  speak, 
turned  toward  his  horse. 

"  Cousin,  cousin,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  in  whose  fine 
black  eyes  tears  were  standii]g,  "  you  will  let  me  take  you 
into  the  city — you  can  not  refuse. " 

"  Berry,  indeed  you  can  not  ride,"  entreated  Philip; 
"  you  must  take  her  offer.  Are  yon  getting  crazed  at  last?'' 

Berenger  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  he  felt  himself 
again  dizzy;  the  exertion  of  springing  into  his  saddle  was 
quite  beyond  him,  and  bending  his  head  he  snbmitted  pass- 
ively to  be  helped  into  the  black  and  white  coach.  Hum- 
frey,  however,  clutched  Philip's  arm  and  said  impressive- 
ly, "  Have  a  care,  sir;  this  is  no  other  than  the  fine  lady, 
sister  to  the  murderous  villain  that  set  upon  him.  If  you 
would  save  his  life,  don't  quit  him,  nor  let  her  take  him 
elsewhere  than  to  our  embassador's.  I'll  not  leave  the 
coach-door,  and  as  soon  as  we  are  past  the  barriers,  I'll 
send  Jack  Smithers  to  make  known  we  are  coming." 

Philip,  without  further  ceremony,  followed  the  lady  into 
the  coach,  where  he  found  her  insisting  that  Berenger,  who 
had  sunk  back  in  a  corner,  should  lay  his  length  of  limb, 
muddy  boots  and  all,  iij)on  the  white  velvet  cushions  richly 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLiS.  27 

worked  in  black  aud  silver,  with  devices  and  mottoes,  in 
which  the  crescent  moon,  and  eclipsed  or  setting  suns,  made 
a  great  figure.  The  original  inmates  seemed  to  have  dis- 
posed of  themselves  in  various  nooks  of  the  ample  convey- 
ance, and  Philip,  rather  at  a  loss  to  explain  his  intrusion, 
'perclied  himself  awkwardly  on  the  edge  of  the  cushions  in 
front  of  his  brother,  thniking  that  Humfrey  was  an 
officious,  suspicious  fellow,  to  distrust  this  lovely  lady,  who 
seemed  so  exceedingly  shocked  and  grieved  at  Berenger's 
condition.  "  Ah!  I  never  guessed  it  had  been  so  frightful 
as  this.  I  should  not  have  known  him.  Ah!  had  I  imag- 
ined— "  She  leaned  back,  covered  her  face,  and  wept,  as 
one  overpowered ;  then,  after  a  few  seconds,  she  bent  for- 
ward, and  would  have  taken  the  hand  that  hung  listlessly 
down,  but  it  was  at  once  withdrawn,  and  folded  with  the 
other  on  his  breast. 

"  Can  you  be  more  at  ease?  Do  you  suffer  much?''  she 
asked,  with  sympathy  and  tenderness  that  went  to  Philip's 
heart,  and  he  exj^lained.  "  He  can  not  speak,  madame; 
the  shot  in  his  cheek  "  (the  ladj  shuddered,  and  put  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes)  "  from  time  to  time  causes  this 
horrible  swelling  and  torture.  After  that  he  will  be  bet- 
ter." 

"Frightful,  frightful!'^  she  sighed,  "but  we  will  do 
our  best  to  make  up.     You,  sir,  must  be  his  triiclieman." 

Philip,  not  catching  the  last  word,  and  wondering  Mdiat 
kind  of  man  that  might  be,  made  answer,  "  I  am  his  broth- 
er, madame." 

"  Eh  !  monsieur  son  frere.  Has  madame  sa  mere  a  son 
so  old?" 

"I  am  Philip  Thistlewood,  her  husband's  son,  at  your 
service,  madame,"  said  Philip?,  coloring  up  to  the  ears;  "I 
came  with  him,  for  he  is  too  weak  to  be  alone." 

"  Great  confidence  must  be  reposed  in  you,  sir,"  she  said 
with  a  not  unflattering  surjDrise.  "  But  whence  are  you 
come?     I  little  looked  to  see  monsieur  here." 

"  We  came  from  Anjou,  madame.  We  went  to  La  Sa- 
blerie,"  and  he  broke  off. 

"  I  understand.  Ah!  let  us  say  no  more!  It  rends  the 
heart;"  and  again  she  wijDcd  away  a  tear.     "  And  now — " 

"  We  are  coming  to  the  embassador's  to  obtain — "  he 
stopped,  for  Berenger  gave  him  a  touch  of  peremptory 
warning,  but  the  lady  saved  his  embarrassment  by  exclaim- 


28  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

ing  that  she  could  not  let  her  dear  cousin  go  to  the  embas- 
sador's when  he  was  among  his  own  kindred.  Perhaps 
monsieur  did  not  know  her;  she  must  present  herself  as 
Mme.  de  Selinville,  7iee  de  Eibaumont,  a  poor  cousin  of  ce 
clier  tar  on,  "  and  even  a  little  to  you,  monsieur  Je  frere,  if 
you  will  own  me/'  and  she  held  out  a  hand,  which  he 
ought  to  have  kissed,  but  not  knowing  how,  he  only  shook 
it.  She  further  exjolained  that  her  brother  was  at  Cracow 
with  Monsieur,  now  King  of  Poland,  but  that  her  father 
lived  with  her  at  her  hotel,  and  would  be  enchanted  to  see 
his  dear  cousin,  only  that  he,  like  herself,  would  be  deso- 
lated at  the  effects  of  that  most  miserable  of  errors.  She 
had  been  returning  from  her  Advent  retreat  at  a  convent, 
where  she  had  been  praying  for  the  soul  of  the  late  M.  de 
Selinville,  when  a  true  Providence  had  made  her  remark 
the  colors  of  her  family.  And  now,  nothing  would  serve 
her,  but  that  this  dear  baron  should  be  carried  at  once  to 
their  hotel,  which  was  much  nearer  than  that  of  the  em- 
bassador, and  where  every  comfort  should  await  him.  She 
clasped  her  hands  in  earnest  entreaty,  and  Philip,  greatly 
touched  by  her  kindness  and  perceiving  that  every  jolt  of 
the  splendid  but  springless  vehicle  caused  Berenger's  head 
a  shoot  of  anguish,  was  almost  acceding  to  her  offer,  when 
he  was  checked  by  one  of  the  most  imperative  of  those  si- 
lent negatives.  Hitherto,  Master  Thistlewood  had  been 
rather  proud  of  his  bad  French,  and  as  long  as  he  could 
be  understood,  considered  trampling  on  genders,  tenses, 
and  moods,  as  a  manful  assertion  of  Englishry,  but  he 
would  just  now  have  given  a  great  deal  for  the  command 
of  any  language  but  a  horseboy's,  to  use  to  this  beautiful 
gracious  personage.  "  Merci,  madame,  nous  ne  fallons 
pas,  nous  avons  pa,sse  notice  parole  d'aller  droit  a  Vamhas- 
sadeur's  et  pas  oil  else,"  did  not  sound  very  right  to  his 
ears;  he  colored  up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  knew  that 
if  Berry  had  had  a  smile  left  in  him,  poor  fellow,  he  would 
have  smiled  now.  But  this  most  charming  and  j^olite  of 
ladies  never  betrayed  it,  if  it  were  ever  such  bad  French; 
she  only  bowed  her  head,  and  said  something  very  pretty 
— if  only  he  could  make  it  out — of  being  the  slave  of  one's 
word,  and  went  on  persuading.  Nor  did  it  make  the  con- 
versation easier,  that  she  inquired  after  Berenger,  and 
mourned  over  his  injuries  as  if  he  were  unconscious,  while 
Philip  kneWj  nay,  was  reminded  every  instant,  th^-t  he  was 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  29 

aware  of  all  that  was  passing,  most  anxious  that  as  little  as 
possible  should  be  said,  and  determined  against  being  taken 
to  her  hotel.  So  unreasonable  a  prejudice  did  this  seem  to 
Philip,  that  had  it  not  been  for  Humfrey's  words,  he  would 
have  doubted  whether,  in  spite  of  all  his  bleeding,  his  broth- 
er's brain  were  not  wandering. 

However,  what  with  Humfrey  without,  and  Berenger 
within,  the  turn  to  the  embassador's  hotel  was  duly  taken, 
and  in  process  of  time  a  hearty  greeting  passed  between 
Humfrey  and  the  porter;  and  by  the  time  the  carriage  drew 
up,  half  the  household  were  assembled  on  the  steps,  includ- 
ing Sir  Francis  himself,  who  had  already  heard  more  than 
a  fortnight  back  from  Lord  Walwyn,  and  had  become  un- 
easy at  the  non-arrival  of  his  tw^o  young  guests.  On  Smith- 
ers's  aj^pearance,  all  had  been  made  ready;  and  as  Beren- 
ger, with  feeble,  tardy  movements,  made  courteous  gest- 
ures of  thanks  to  the  lady,  and  alighted  from  the  coach,  he 
was  absolutely  received  into  the  dignified  arms  of  the  em- 
bassador. "  Welcome,  my  poor  lad,  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
here  again,  though  in  such  different  guise.  Your  chamber 
is  ready  for  you,  and  I  have  sent  my  secretary  to  see  if 
Maitre  Pare  be  at  home,  and  so  we  will,  with  God's  help, 
have  you  better  at  ease  anon." 

Even  Philip's  fascination  by  Mme.  de  Selinville  could 
not  hold  out  against  the  comfort  of  hearing  English  voices 
all  round  him,  and  of  seeing  his  brother's  anxious  brow  ex- 
pand, and  his  hand  and  eyes  return  no  constrained  thanks. 
Civilities  were  exchanged  on  both  sides;  the  embassador 
thanked  the  lady  for  the  assistance  she  had  rendered  to  his 
young  friend  and  guest;  she  answered  with  a  shade  of  stiff- 
ness, that  she  left  her  kinsman  in  good  hands,  and  said  she 
should  send  to  inquire  that  evening,  and  her  father  would 
call  on  the  morrow;  then,  as  Lady  Walsingham  did  not  ask 
her  in,  the  black  and  white  coach  drove  away. 

The  lady  threw  herself  back  in  one  corner,  covered  her 
face,  and  spoke  no  word.  Her  coach  pursued  its  way 
through  the  streets,  and  turned  at  length  into  another  great 
court-yard,  surrounded  with  buildings,  where  she  alighted, 
and  stej)ped  across  a  wide  but  dirty  hall,  where  ranks  of 
servants  stood  uj)  and  bowed  as  she  passed;  then  she  as- 
cended a  wide  carved  staircase,  opened  a  small  private  door, 
and  entered  a  tiny  wainscoted  room,  hardly  large  enough 
for  her  farthingale  to  turn  round  in.     "  You,  Veronique, 


30  THE    CllAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

come  ill — only  you,"  she  said,  at  the  door;  aiid  a  waiting- 
woman,  who  had  been  in  the  carriage,  obeyed,  no  longer 
clad  in  the  Angevin  costume,  but  in  the  richer  and  less 
characteristic  dress  of  the  ordinary  Parisian  femme  de 
chamhre. 

"  Undo  my  mantle  in  haste!"  gasped  Mme.  de  Selin- 
ville.     "  0  Veronique— you  saw — what  destruction!" 

''  Ah!  if  my  sweet  young  lady  had  only  known  how 
frightful  he  had  become,  she  had  never  sacrificed  herself," 
sighed  Veronique. 

"  Frightful!  What  with  the  grave  blue  eyes  that  seem 
like  the  steady  avenging  judgment  of  St.  Michael  in  his 
triumph  in  the  picture  at  the  Louvre,"  murmured  Mme. 
de  Selinville;  then  she  added  quickly,  ''  Yes,  yes,  it  is  well. 
She  and  you,  Veronique,  may  see  him  frightful  and  wel- 
come. There  are  other  eyes — make  haste,  girl.  There — 
another  handkerchief.     Follow  me  not." 

And  Mme.  de  Selinville  moved  out  of  the  room,  past  the 
great  state  bedroom  and  the  salle  beyond,  to  another  cham- 
ber where  more  servants  waited  and  rose  at  her  entrance. 

' '  Is  any  one  with  my  father?  " 

*'  No,  madame;'^  and  a  page,  knocking,  opened  the  door 
and  announced,  "  Madame  la  Comtesse. " 

The  chevalier,  in  easy  dishabille,  with  a  flask  of  good 
wine,  iced  water,  and  delicate  cakes  and  confitures  before 
him,  a  witty  and  licentious  epigrammatic  poem  close  under 
his  hand,  sat  lazily  enjoying  the  luxuries  that  it  had  been 
his  daughter's  satisfaction  to  procure  for  him  ever  since 
her  marriage.  He  sjirung  up  to  meet  her  with  a  grace  and 
deference  that  showed  how  different  a  jDcrson  was  the  Comt- 
esse de  Selinville  from  Diane  de  Ribaumont. 

"  Ah!  ma  belle,  my  sweet,"  as  there  was  a  mutual  kiss- 
ing of  hands,  "  thou  art  returned.  Had  I  known  thine 
hour,  I  had  gone  down  for  thy  first  embrace.  But  thou 
lookest  fair,  my  child ;  the  convent  has  made  thee  lovelier 
than  ever."" 

*'  Father,  who  think  you  is  here?    It  is  he— the  baron." 

''  The  baron;  who,  what  baron?" 

"What  baron?  Eh,  father!"  she  cried  impetuously. 
"  Who  could  it  be  but  one?" 

"My  child,  you  are  mistaken!  That  young  hot-head 
can  never  be  thrusting  liimself  here  again. " 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS.  31 

"But  he  is,  father;  I  brought  him  into  Paris  in  my 
coach!     I  left  liim  at  the  embassador's." 

"  Thou  shouldest  have  brought  him  here.  There  will  bo 
ten  thousand  fresh  imbroglios." 

"  I  could  not;  he  is  as  immoveable  as  ever,  though  un- 
able to  speak!  Oh,  father,  he  is  very  ill,  he  suffers  terri- 
bly.    Oh,  Narcisse!    Ah!  may  I  never  see  him  again!" 

"But  what  brings  him  blundering  here  again?"  ex- 
claimed the  chevalier.  "  Speak  intelligibly,  child!  I 
thought  we  had  guarded  against  that!  He  knows  nothing 
of  the  survivance. " 

"  I  can  not  tell  much.  He  could  not  open  his  mouth, 
and  his  half-brother,  a  big  dull  English  boy,  stammered 
out  a  few  words  of  shocking  French  against  his  will.  But 
I  believe  tliey  had  heard  of  lu  pauvre  petite  at  La  Sablerie, 
came  over  for  her,  and  finding  the  ruin  my  brother  makes 
wherever  he  goes,  are  returning  seeking  intelligence  and 
succor  for  kirn." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  the  chevalier,  thoughtfully.  "  It 
is  well  thy  brother  is  in  Poland.  I  would  not  see  him 
suffer  any  more;  and  we  may  get  him  back  to  England  ore 
my  son  learns  that  he  is  here." 

"  Father,  there  is  a  better  way!     Give  him  my  hand." 

"  Eh  qnol,  child;  if  thou  art  tired  of  devotion,  there  are 
a  thousand  better  marriages. " 

"  No,  father,  none  so  good  for  Jhis  family.  See,  I  bring 
him  all — all  that  I  was  sold  for.  As  the  price  of  that,  he 
resigns  forever  all  his  claims  to  the  ancestral  castle — to  La 
Leurre,  and  above  all,  that  claim  to  Nid-de-Merle  as  Eus- 
tacie's  widower,  which,  should  he  ever  discover  the  original 
contract,  will  lead  to  endless  warfare." 

"  His  marriage  with  Eustacie  was  annulled.  Yet — yet 
there  might  bo  doubts.  There  was  the  protest;  and  who 
knows  whether  they  formally  renewed  their  vows  when  so 
much  went  wrong  at  Montpipeau.  Child,  it  is  a  horrible 
perplexity.  I  often  could  wish  we  had  had  no  warning,  and 
the  poor  things  had  made  off  together.  We  could  have 
cried  shame  till  we  forced  out  a  provision  for  thy  brotber; 
and  my  poor  little  Eustacie — "  He  had  tears  in  his  eyes 
as  he  broke  off. 

Diane  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  She  would  have 
died  of  tedium  in  England,  or  broken  forth  so  as  to  have  a 
true  scandal.     That  is  all  over,  father,  now;  weigh  my  pro- 


32  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

posal!  Nothing  else  will  save  my  brother  from  all  that  his 
cruel  hand  merits!  You  will  win  infinite  credit  at  court. 
The  king  loved  him  more  than  you  thought  safe." 

"'  The  king  has  not  a  year  to  live,  child,  and  he  has  per- 
sonally offended  the  King  of  Poland.  Besides,  this  youth 
is  heretic. " 

"  Only  by  education.  Have  I  not  heard  you  say  that  he 
had  so  little  of  the  Huguenot  that  you  feared  his  throwing 
you  over  by  an  abjuration.  And  as  to  Monsieur's  enmity, 
if  it  be  not  forgotten,  the  glory  of  bringing  about  a  conver- 
sion would  end  that  at  once." 

"  Then,  daughter,  thou  shouldst  not  have  let  him  bury 
himself  among  the  English. " 

"  It  was  unavoidable,  father,  and  jierhaps  if  he  were 
here  he  would  live  in  an  untamable  state  of  distrust, 
whereas  we  may  now  win  him  gradually.  You  will  go  and 
see  him  to-morrow,  my  dear  father." 

"  I  must  have  time  to  think  of  this  tliy  sudden  device." 

"  Nay,  he  is  in  no  condition  to  hear  of  it  at  present.  I 
did  but  speak  now,  that  you  might  not  regard  it  as  sudden 
when  the  fit  moment  comes.  It  is  the  fixed  purpose  of  my 
mind.  I  am  no  girl  now,  and  I  could  act  for  myself  if  I 
would;  but  as  it  is  for  your  interest  and  that  of  my  brother 
thus  to  dispose  of  me,  it  is  better  that  you  should  act  for 
me. ' ' 

"  Child,  headstrong  child,  thou  wilt  make  no  scandal," 
said  the  chevalier,  looking  up  at  his  daughter's  handsome 
head  drawn  up  proudly  with  determination. 

"  Certainly  not,  sir,  if  you  will  act  for  me. "  And  Diane 
sailed  away  in  her  sweeping  folds  of  black  brocade. 

In  a  few  moments  more  she  was  kneeling  with  hands 
locked  together  before  a  much-gilded  little  waxen  figure  of 
St.  Eustache  with  his  cross-bearing  stag  by  his  side,  which 
stood  in  a  curtained  recess  in  the  alcove  where  her  stately 
bed  was  placed. 

"  Monseigneur  St.  Eustache,  ten  wax  candles  every  day 
to  your  shrine  at  Bellaise,  so  he  recovers;  ten  more  if  he 
listens  favorably  and  loves  me.  Nay,  all — all  the  Selinville 
jewels  to  make  you  a  shrine.  All — all,  so  he  will  only  let 
me  love  him;"  and  ttien,  while  taking  up  the  beads,  and 
pronouncing  the  rejjeated  devotions  attached  to  each,  her 
mind  darted  back  to  the  day  when,  as  young  children,  she 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  33 

had  played  unfairly,  defrauded  Landry  Osbert,  and  denied 
it;  how  Berenger,  though  himself  uninjured,  had  refused 
to  speak  to  hei'  all  that  day — how  she  had  hated  him  then 
— how  she  had  thought  she  had  hated  him  throughout  their 
brief  intercourse  in  the  previous  year;  how  she  had  played 
into  her  brother's  hands;  and  when  she  thought  to  triumph 
over  the  man  who  had  scorned  her,  found  her  soul  all  blank 
desolation,  and  light  gone  out  from  the  earth!  Eeckless 
and  weary,  she  had  let  herself  be  united  to  M.  de  Selinville, 
and  in  her  bridal  honors  and  amusements  had  tried  to 
crowd  out  the  sense  of  dreariness  and  lose  herself  in  excite- 
ment. Then  came  the  illness  and  death  of  her  husband, 
and  almost  at  the  same  time  the  knowledge  of  Berenger's 
existence.  She  sought  excitement  again  in  that  feverish 
form  of  devotion  then  in  vogue  at  Paris,  and  which  resulted 
in  the  League.  She  had  hitherto  stunned  herself  as  it  were 
with  penances,  processions,  and  sermons,  for  which  the  host 
of  religious  orders  then  at  Paris  had  given  amjjle  scope; 
and  she  was  constantly  devising  new  extravagances.  Even 
at  this  moment  she  wore  sack-cloth  beneath  her  brocade, 
and  her  rosary  was  of  death's  heads.  She  was  living  on 
the  outward  husk  of  the  Koman  Church,  not  i^enetrating 
into  its  living  power,  and  the  jjhase  of  religion  which 
fostered  Henry  III.  and  the  League  offered  her  no  more. 

All,  all  had  melted  away  beneath  the  sad  but  steadfast 
glance  of  those  two  eyes,  the  only  feature  still  unchanged 
in  the  marred,  wrecked  countenance.  That  honest,  quiet 
refusal,  that  look  which  came  from  a  higher  atmosphere, 
had  filled  her  heart  with  passionate  beatings  and  aspirations 
once  more,  and  more  consciously  than  ever.  Womanly 
feeling  for  suffering,  and  a  deep  longing  to  compensate  to 
him,  and  earn  his  love,  nay,  wrest  it  from  him  by  the  bene- 
fits she  would  heap  upon  him,  were  all  at  work;  but  the 
primary  sense  was  the  longing  to  rest  on  the  only  perfect 
truth  she  had  ever  known  in  man,  and  thus  with  passionate 
ardor  she  poured  forth  her  entreaties  to  St.  Eustache,  a 
married  saint,  who  had  known  love,  and  could  feel  for  her, 
and  could  surely  not  object  to  the  affection  to  which  she 
completely  gave  way  for  one  whose  hand  was  now  as  free 
as  her  own. 

But  St.  Eustache  was  not  Diane's  only  hope.  That 
evening  she  sent  Veronique  to  Eene  of  Milan,  the  court- 
perfumer,  but  also  called   by  the  malicious,  I'empoisonneur 

3-2d  half. 


34  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

de  la  Reine,  to  obtain  from  him  the  most  infallible  charm 
and  love  potion  in  his  whole  rejDertory. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

THE   chevalier's    EXPIATION. 

Next,  sirs,  did  lie  marry? 
And  whom,  sirs,  did  he  marry?     One  like  himself, 
Though  doubtless  graced  witli  many  virtues,  young, 
And  erring,  and  in  nothing  more  astray 
Than  in  this  marriage. 

Taylor,  Edwin  the  Fair. 

Nothing  could  be  kinder  than  the  embassador's  family, 
and  Philip  found  himself  at  once  at  home  there,  at  least  in 
his  brother's  room,  which  was  all  the  world  to  him.  Fort- 
unately, Ambroise  Pare,  the  most  skillful  sar^^eon  of  his 
day,  had  stolen  a  day  from  his  attendance  on  King  Charles, 
at  St.  Germain,  to  visit  his  Paris  patients,  and,  though 
unwilHng  to  add  to  the  list  of  cases,  when  he  heard  from 
Walsingham's  secretary  who  the  sufferer  was,  and  when  in- 
jured, he  came  at  once  to  afford  his  aid. 

He  found,  however,  that  there  was  little  scope  for  pres- 
ent treatment,  he  could  only  set  his  chief  assistant  to  watch 
the  patient  and  to  inform  him  when  the  crisis  should  be 
nearer;  but  remarking  the  unease,  anxious  expression  in 
Berenger's  eyes,  he  desired  to  know  whether  any  care  on  his 
mind  might  be  interfering  with  his  recovery.  A  Hugue- 
not, and  perfectly  trustworthy,  he  was  otie  who  Walsingham 
knew  might  safely  hear  the  whole,  and  after  hearing  all,  he 
at  once  returned  to  his  patient,  and  leaning  over  him,  said, 
"  Vex  not  yourself,  sir;  your  illness  is  probably  serving  you 
better  than  health  could  do." 

Sir  Francis  thought  this  quite  probable,  since  Charles 
was  so  unwell  and  so  beset  witli  his  mother's  creatures  that 
no  open  audience  could  be  obtained  from  him,  and  Pare, 
who  always  had  access  to  him,  might  act  when  no  one  else 
could  reach  him.  Meantime  the  embassador  rejoiced  to 
hear  of  the  instinctive  caution  that  had  made  Berenger 
silence  Philip  on  the  object  of  the  journey  to  Paris,  since  if 
the  hostile  family  guessed  at  the  residence  of  the  poor  in- 
fant, they  would  have  full  opportunity  for  obliterating  all 
the  scanty  traces  of  her.     Poor  persecuted  little  thing!  the 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  35 

uncertain  hope  of  her  existence  seemed  really  the  only 
thread  that  still  bound  Berenger  to  life.  He  had  spent 
eighteen  months  in  hoj^e  deferred,  and  constant  bodily  pain; 
and  when  the  frightful  disappointment  met  him  at  La  Sa- 
blerie,  it  was  no  wonder  that  his  heart  and  hope  seemed 
buried  in  the  black  scorched  ruins  where  all  he  cared  for 
had  perished.  He  was  scarcely  nineteen,  but  the  life  be- 
fore him  seemed  full  of  nothing  but  one  ghastly  recollec- 
tion, and,  as  he  said  in  the  short  sad  little  letter  which  he 
wrote  to  his  grandfather  from  his  bed,  he  only  desired  to 
live  long  enough  to  save  Eustacie's  child  from  being  a 
nameless  orphan  maintained  for  charity  in  a  convent,  and 
to  see  her  safe  in  Aunt  Cecily's  care;  and  then  he  should  be 
content  to  have  done  with  this  world  forever. 

The  thought  that  no  one  except  himself  could  save  the 
child,  seemed  to  give  him  the  resolution  to  battle  for  life 
that  often  bears  the  patient  through  illness,  though  now  he 
was  suffering  more  severely  and  consciously  than  ever  he 
had  done  before;  and  Lady  Walsingham  often  gave  up 
hopes  of  him.  He  was  tenderly  cared  for  by  her  and  her 
women;  but  Philip  yvas  the  most  constant  nurse,  and  his 
unfailing  assiduity  and  readiness  amazed  the  household, 
who  had  begun  by  thinking  him  ungainly,  loutish,  and  fit 
for  nothing  but  country  sports. 

The  Chevalier  de  Eibaumont  came  daily  to  inquire;  and 
the  first  time  he  was  admitted  actually  burst  into  tears  at 
the  sight  of  the  swollen  disfigured  face,  and  the  long  mark 
on  the  arm  which  lay  half  uncovered.  Presents  of  deli- 
cacies, ointments,  and  cooling  drinks  were  frequently  sent 
from  him  and  from  the  Countess  de  Selinville;  but  Lady 
Walsingham  distrusted  these,  and  kept  her  guest  strictly  to 
the  regimen  appointed  by  Pare.  Now  and  then,  billets 
would  likewise  come.  The  first  brought  a  vivid  crimson 
into  Berenger's  face,  and  both  it  and  all  its  successors  he 
instantly  tore  into  the  smallest  fragments,  without  letting 
any  one  see  them. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  Carnival,  the  young  men  of  the 
household  had  asked  Master  Thistlewood  to  come  out  with 
them  and  see  the  procession  of  the  Boeiif  Gras;  but  before 
it  could  take  place,  reports  were  flying  'about  that  put  the 
city  in  commotion,  caused  the  embassador  to  forbid  all  go- 
ing out,  and  made  Philip  expect  another  Huguenot  mas- 
sacre.    The  Duke  of  Alen^on  and  the  King  of  Navarre  had 


36  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

been  detected,  it  was  said,  in  a  conspiracy  for  overthrowing 
the  power  of  the  queen -mother,  bringing  in  the  Huguenots, 
and  securing  tlie  crown  to  Alen(;on  on  the  king's  death. 
Down-stairs,  the  embassador  and  liis  secretaries  sat  anx- 
iously striving  to  sift  the  various  contradictory  reports; 
upstairs,  Pliihp  and  Lady  Walsingham  were  anxiously 
watching  Berenger  in  what  seemed  the  long-expected  crisis, 
and  Phihp  was  feehng  as  if  all  the  French  court  were  wel- 
come to  murder  one  another  so  that  they  would  only  let 
Ambroise  Pare  come  to  his  brother's  relief.  And  it  was 
impossible  even  to  send! 

At  last,  however,  when  Ash- Wednesday  was  half  over, 
there  was  a  quiet  movement,  and  a  small  pale  man  in  black 
was  at  the  bedside,  without  Philip's  having  ever  seen  his 
entrance.  He  looked  at  his  exhausted  jjatient,  and  said, 
"  It  is  well;  I  could  not  have  done  you  any  good  before." 

And  when  he  had  set  Berenger  more  at  ease,  he  told  how 
great  had  been  the  confusion  at  St.  Germain  when  the  plot 
had  become  known  to  the  queen-mother.  The  poor  king 
had  been  wakened  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
carried  to  his  litter,  where  Pare  and  his  old  nurse  had 
tended  him.  He  only  said,  "  Can  they  not  let  me  die  in 
peace?"  and  his  weakness  had  been  so  great  on  arriving, 
that  the  surgeon  could  hardly  have  left  him  for  M.  de 
Ribaumont,  save  by  his  own  desire.  "  Yes,  sir,''  added 
Pare,  seeing  Berenger  attending  to  him,  "  we  must  liave 
you  well  quickly;  his  majesty  knows  all  about  you,  and  is 
anxious  to  see  you." 

In  spite  of  these  good  wishes,  the  recovery  was  very 
slow;  for,  as  the  surgeon  had  susj^ected,  the  want  of  skill  in 
those  who  had  had  the  charge  of  Berenger  at  the  first  had 
been  the  cause  of  much  of  his  protracted  suffering.  Pare, 
the  inventor  of  trephining,  was,  perhaps,  the  only  man  in 
Europe  who  could  have  dealt  with  the  fracture  in  the  back 
of  the  head,  and  he  likewise  extracted  the  remaining 
splinters  of  the  jaw,  though  at  the  cost  of  much  severe 
handling  and  almost  intolerable  pain;  but  by  Easter, 
Berenger  found  the  good  surgeon's  encouragement  verified, 
and  himself  on  the  way  to  a  far  more  efi'ectual  cure  than 
he  had  hitherto  thought  possible.  Sleep  had  come  back  to 
him,  he  experienced  the  luxury  of  being  free  from  all  pam, 
he  could  eat  without  difficulty;  and  Pare,  always  an  enemy 
to  wine,  assured  him  that  half  (he  severe  headaches  for 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  37 

which  he  had  been  almost  bled  to  death,  were  the  conse- 
quence of  his  living  on  bread  and  soaked  in  sack  instead  of 
solid  food;  and  he  was  forbidden  henceforth  to  inflame  his 
brain  with  anything  stronger  than  sherbet.  His  speech, 
too,  was  much  imjDroved;  he  still  could  not  utter  all  the 
consonants  perfectly,  and  could  not  speak  distinctly  with- 
out articulating  very  slowly,  but  all  the  discomfort  and 
pain  were  gone ;  and  though  still  very  weak,  he  told  Philip 
that  now  all  his  course  seemed  clear  toward  his  child,  in- 
stead of  being  like  a  dull,  distraught  dream.  His  plan  was 
to  write  to  have  a  vessel  sent  from  Weymouth,  to  lie  off  the 
coast  till  his  signal  should  be  seen  from  La  Motte-Achard, 
and  then  to  take  in  the  whole  jDarty  and  the  little  yearling 
daughter,  whom  he  declared  he  sliould  trust  to  no  one  but 
himself.  Lady  Walsingham  remonstrated  a  little  at  the 
wonderful  plans  hatched  by  the  two  lads  together,  and  yet 
she  was  too  glad  to  see  a  beginning  of  brightening  on  his 
face  to  make  many  objections.  It  was  only  too  sad  to 
think  how  likely  he  was  again  to  be  disapjjointed. 

He  was  dressed,  but  had  not  left  his  room,  and  Avas 
lying  on  cushions  in  the  ample  window  overlooking  the  gar- 
den, while  Frances  and  Elizabeth  Walsingham  in  charge  of 
their  mother  tried  to  amuse  him  by  their  chiklish  airs  and 
sports,  when  a  message  was  brought  that  M.  le  Chevalier 
de  Ribaumont  prayed  to  be  admitted  to  see  him  privily. 

"  What  bodes  that?"  he  languidly  said. 

"  Mischief,  no  doubt,"  said  Philip  Walsingham.  "  Send 
him  word  that  you  are  seriously  employed.'^ 

"  Nay,  that  could  scarce  be,  when  he  must  have  heard 
the  children's  voices,"  said  Lady  Walsingham.  "  Come 
away,  little  ones." 

The  ladies  took  the  hint  and  vanished,  but  Philip  re- 
mained till  the  chevalier  had  entered,  more  resplendent  than 
ever,  in  a  brown  velvet  suit  slashed  with  green  satin,  and 
sparkling  with  gold  lace — a  contrast  to  the  deep  mourning 
habit  in  which  Berenger  was  dressed.  After  inquiries  for 
his  health,  the  chevalier  looked  at  Philip,  and  expressed  his 
desire  of  speaking  with  his  cousin  alone. 

"  If  it  be  of  business,"  said  Berenger,  much  on  his 
guard,  "  my  head  is  still  weak,  and  I  would  wish  to  have 
the  presence  of  the  embassador  or  one  of  his  secretaries.'* 

"  This  is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  business  as  of  family,'' 
said  the  chevalier,  still  looking  so  uneasily  at  Philip  that 


38  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

Berenger  felt  constrained  to  advise  him  to  join  tlie  young 
ladies  in  the  garden;  but  instead  of  doing  this,  the  boy 
paced  the  corridors  like  a  restless  dog  waiting  for  his  mas- 
ter, and  no  sooner  heard  the  old  gentleman  bow  himself  out 
than  he  hurried  back  again,  to  find  Berenger  heated,  pant- 
ing, agitated  as  by  a  shar])  encounter. 

"  Brother,  what  is  it — what  has  the  old  rogue  done  to 
you?'' 

"  Nothing,"  said  Berenger,  tardily  and  wearily;  and  for 
some  minutes  he  did  not  attempt  to  sjjeak,  while  Philip 
devoured  his  curiosity  as  best  he  might.  At  last  he  said, 
"  He  was  always  beyond  me.  What  think  you?  Now  he 
wants  me  to  turn  French  courtier  and  marry  his  daughter. " 

"  His  daughter!"  exclaimed  Philip,  "  that  beautiful 
lady  I  saw  in  the  coach?" 

A  nod  of  assent. 

"  I  only  wish  it  were  I." 

"  Phihp,"  half  angrily,  "  how  can  you  be  such  a  fool?" 

"  Of  course,  I  know  it  can't  be,"  said  Philip  sheepishly, 
but  a  little  offended.  "  But  she's  the  fairest  woman  my 
eyes  ever  beheld." 

"And  the  falsest." 

"  My  father  says  all  women  are  false;  only  they  can't 
help  it,  and  don't  mean  it." 

'•  Only  some  do  mean  it,"  said  Berenger,  dryly. 

"  Brother!"  cried  Philip,  fiercely,  as  if  ready  to  break  a 
lance,  "  what  right  have  you  to  accuse  that  kindly,  lovely 
dame  of  falsehood?" 

"  It  skills  not  going  through  all,"  said  Berenger,  wearily. 
*'  I  know  her  of  old.  She  began  by  passing  herself  off  on 
me  as  my  wife.  " 

"  And  you  were  not  transported?" 

"  I  am  not  such  a  gull  as  you." 

"  How  very  beautiful  your  wife  must  have  been!"  said 
Philip,  with  gruff  amazement  overpowering  his  considera- 
tion. 

"  Much  you  know  about  it,"  returned  Berenger,  turning 
his  face  away. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  first  broken  by  Philip,  asking 
more  cautiously,  "  And  what  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"  I  said  whatever  could  show  it  was  most  impossible. 
Even  I  said  the  brother's  handwriting  was  too  plain  on  my 
face  for  me  to  offer  mvself  to  the  sister.     But  it  seems  all 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS.  39 

that  is  to  be  passed  over  as  an  unlucky  mistake.     I  wish  I 
could  guess  what  the  old  fellow  is  aiming  at. " 

"  I  am  sure  the  lady  looked  at  you  as  if  she  loved  you. " 

"Simpleton!  She  looked  to  see  how  she  could  beguile 
me.  Love!  They  do  notliing  for  love  here,  you  foolish 
boy,  save  j'j«r  amour.  If  she  loved  me,  her  father  was  the 
last  person  she  would  have  sent  me.  No,  no;  'tis  a  new 
stratagem,  if  I  could  only  see  my  way  into  it.  Perha^js  Sir 
Francis  will  when  he  can  spend  an  hour  on  me. " 

Though  full  of  occupation.  Sir  Francis  never  failed  daily 
to  look  in  upon  his  convalescent  guest,  and  when  he  heard 
of  the  chevalier's  interview,  he  took  care  that  Berenger 
should  have  full  time  to  consult  him;  and,  of  course,  he 
inquired  a  good  deal  more  into  the  particulars  of  the  pro- 
jDosal  than  Philip  had  done.  When  he  learned  that  the 
chevalier  had  oifered  all  the  very  considerable  riches  and 
lands  that  Diane  enjoyed  in  right  of  her  late  husband  as  an 
equivalent  for  Berenger' s  resignation  of  all  claims  upon 
the  Nid-de-Merle  property,  he  noted  it  on  his  tablets,  and 
desired  to  know  what  these  claims  might  be.  "I  can  not 
tell,"  said  Berenger.  "  You  may  remember,  sir,  the 
parchments  with  our  contract  of  marriage  had  been  taken 
away  from  Chateau  Leurre,  and  I  have  never  seen  them. " 

"  Then,"  said  the  embassador,  "  you  may  hold  it  as  cer- 
tain that  those  parchments  give  you  some  advantage  which 
he  hears,  since  he  is  willing  to  purchase  it  at  so  heavy  a 
price.  Otherwise  he  himself  would  be  the  natural  heir  of 
those  lands. " 

"  After  my  child,"  said  Berenger,  hastily. 

"  Were  you  on  your  guard  against  mentioning  your  trust 
in  your  child's  life?"  said  Sir  Francis. 

The  long  scar  turned  deeper  purple  than  ever.  "  Only 
so  far  as  that  I  said  there  still  be  rights  I  had  no  power  to 
resign,"  said  Berenger.  "  And  then  he  began  to  prove  to 
me — what  I  had  no  mind  to  hear  "  (and  his  voice  trem- 
bled)— "  all  that  I  know  but  too  well. " 

"  Hum!  you  must  not  be  left  alone  again  to  cope  with 
him,"  said  Walsingham.  "  Did  he  make  any  question  of 
the  validity  of  your  marriage?" 

"  No,  sir,  it  was  never  touched  on.  I  would  not  let  him 
take  her  name  into  liis  lips." 

Walsingham  considered  for  some  minutes,  and  then  said, 
*'  It  is  clear,  then,  that  he  believes  that  the  marriage  can 


40  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

be  sufficiently  established  to  enable  you  to  disturb  him  in 
his  possession  of  some  jjart,  at  least,  of  the  Angevin  in- 
heritance, or  he  would  not  endeavor  to  purchase  your 
renunciation  of  it  by  the  hand  of  a  daughter  so  richly  en- 
dowed/' 

"  I  would  willingly  renounce  it  if  that  were  all!  I  never 
sought  it;  only  I  can  not  give  up  her  child's  rights. " 

"And  that  you  almost  declared/' j^roceeded  Walsing- 
ham ;  "so  that  the  chevalier  has  by  his  negotiation 
gathered  from  you  that  you  have  not  given  up  hope  that 
the  infant  lives.  Do  your  men  know  where  you  believe  she 
is?" 

"  My  Englishmen  know  it,  of  course,"  said  Berenger; 
"  but  there  is  no  fear  of  them.  The  chevalier  speaks  no 
English,  and  they  scarcely  any  French;  and,  besides,  I  be- 
lieve they  deem  him  eqiially  my  butcher  with  his  son.  The 
other  fellow  I  only  picked  up  after  I  was  on  my  way  to 
Paris,  and  I  doubt  his  knowing  my  i3urpose." 

"  The  chevalier  must  have  had  speech  with  him, 
though,"  said  Philip;  "  for  it  was  he  who  brought  Avord 
that  the  old  rogue  wished  to  speak  with  you. " 

"  It  would  be  well  to  be  tjuit  yourself  of  the  fellow  ere 
leaving  Paris,"  said  Walsingham. 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  Berenger,  with  an  anxious  voice,  "  do 
you  indeed  think  I  have  betrayed  aught  that  can  peril  the 
poor  little  one?" 

Sir  Francis  smiled.  "  We  do  not  set  lads  of  your  age  to 
cope  with  old  foxes,"  he  answered;  "and  it  seems  tome 
that  you  used  fair  discretion  in  the  encounter.  The  mere 
belief  that  the  child  lives  does  not  show  him  where  she  may 
be.  In  effect,  it  would  seem  likely  to  most  that  the  babe 
would  be  nursed  in  some  cottage,  and  thus  not  be  in  the 
city  of  La  Sablerie  at  all.  He  might,  mayhap,  thus  be 
put  on  a  false  scent. ' ' 

"Oh  no,"  exclaimed  Berenger,  startled;  "that  might 
bring  the  death  of  some  other  person's  child  on  my  soul. " 

"  That  shall  be  guarded  against,"  said  Sir  Francis.  "  In 
the  meantime,  my  fair  youth,  keep  your  matters  as  silent 
as  may  be — do  not  admit  the  chevalier  again  in  my  ab- 
sence; and,  as  to  this  man  Guibert,  I  will  confer  with  my 
steward  whether  he  knows  too  much,  and  whether  it  be 
safer  to  keep  or  dismiss  him!" 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEATILS.  41 

"  If  only  I  could  see  the  king,  and  leave  Paris,"  sighed 
Berenger. 

And  Walsingliam,  though  unwilling  to  grieve  the  poor 
youth  further,  bethought  himself  that  this  was  the  most 
difficult  and  hopeless  matter  of  all.  As  young  Ribaumont 
grew  better,  the  king  grew  worse;  he  himself  only  saw 
Charles  on  rare  occasions,  surrounded  by  a  host  of  watch- 
ful eyes  and  ears,  and  every  time  he  marked  the  progress  of 
disease;  and  though  such  a  hint  could  not  be  given  by  an 
embassador,  he  thought  that  by  far  the  best  chance  of  re- 
covery of  the  child  lay  in  the  confusion  that  might  probably 
follow  the  death  of  Charles  IX.  in  the  absence  of  his  next 
heir. 

Berenger  reckoned  on  the  influence  of  Elizabeth  of 
Austria,  who  had  been  the  real  worker  in  his  union  with 
Eustacie;  but  he  was  told  that  it  was  vain  to  expect  assist- 
ance from  her.  In  the  first  year  of  her  marriage,  she  had 
fondly  hoped  to  enjoy  her  husband's  confidence,  and  take 
her  natural  place  in  his  Court;  but  she  was  of  no  mold  to 
struggle  with  Catherine  de  Medicis,  and  after  a  time  had 
totally  desisted.  Even  at  the  time  of  the  St.  Bartholomew, 
she  had  endeavored  to  uplift  her  voice  on  the  side  of 
mercy,  and  had  actually  saved  the  lives  of  the  King  of 
Navarre  and  Prince  of  Conde;  and  her  father,  the  good 
Maximilian  II.,  had  written  in  the  strongest  terms  to 
Charles  IX.  expressing  his  horror  of  the  massacre.  Six 
weeks  later,  the  first  hour  after  the  birth  of  her  first  and 
only  child,  she  had  interceded  with  her  husband  for  the 
lives  of  two  Huguenots  who  had  been  taken  alive,  and  fail- 
ing then  either  through  his  want  of  will  or  want  of  j)0wer, 
she  had  collapsed  and  yielded  up  the  endeavor.  She  ceased 
to  listen  to  petitions  from  those  who  had  hoped  for  her 
assistance,  as  if  to  save  both  them  and  herself  useless  pain, 
and  seemed  to  lapse  into  a  sort  of  apathy  to  all  public  in- 
terests. She  hardly  spoke,  mechanically  fulfilled  her  few 
offices  in  the  Court,  and  seemed  to  have  turned  her  entire 
hope  and  trust  into  prayer  for  her  husband.  Her  German 
confessor  had  been  sent  home,  and  a  Jesuit  given  her  in 
his  stead,  but  she  had  made  no  resistance;  she  seemed  to 
the  outer  world  a  dull,  weary  stranger,  obstinate  in  leading 
a  conventual  life;  but  those  who  knew  her  lest — and  of 
these  few  was  the  Huguenot  surgeon  Pare — knew  that  her 
Jieart  had  been  broken  when,  as  a  new-made  mother,  she 


43  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

had  failed  to  win  those  two  guilty  lives,  or  to  make  her 
husband  free  himself  from  his  bondage  to  bloody  counsels. 
To  pray  for  him  was  all  that  remained  to  her — and  un- 
wearied had  been  those  prayers.  Since  his  health  had  de- 
clined, she  had  been  equally  indefatigable  in  attending  on 
him,  and  did  not  seem  to  have  a  single  interest  beyond  his 
sick-chamber. 

As  to  the  King  of  Navarre,  for  whose  help  Berenger  had 
hoped,  he  had  been  all  these  months  in  the  dishonorable 
thralldom  of  Catherine  do  Medicis,  and  was  more  powerless 
than  ever  at  this  juncture,  having  been  implicated  in 
AlenQon's  plot,  and  imprisoned  at  Vincennes. 

And  thus,  the  more  Berenger  heard  of  the  state  of  things, 
the  less  hopeful  did  his  cause  appear,  till  he  could  almost 
have  believed  his  best  chance  lay  in  Philip's  plan  of  per- 
suading the  Huguenots  to  storm  the  convent. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   DYING    KING. 

Die  in  terror  of  thy  guiltiness, 
Dream  on,  dream  on  of  bloody  deeds  and  death, 
Fainting,  despair,  despairing  yield  thy  breath. 

King  Richard  III. 

A  FEW  days  later,  when  Berenger  had  sent  out  Philip, 
under  the  keeping  of  the  secretaries,  to  see  the  queen- 
mother  represent  royalty  in  one  of  the  grand  processions  of 
Rogation-tide,  the  gentle  knock  came  to  his  door  that  al- 
ways announced  the  arrival  of  his  good  surgeon. 

"  You  look  stronger.  Monsieur  le  Baron;  have  you  left 
your  room?" 

"  I  have  walked  round  the  gallery  above  the  hall,''  said 
Berenger.  "  I  have  not  gona  down-stairs;  that  is  for  to- 
morrow.'' 

' '  What  would  Monsieur  le  Baron  say  if  his  chirurgeon 
took  him  not  merely  down-stairs,  but  up  one  flight  at  the 
Louvre?" 

"Ha!"  cried  Berenger;  ''  to  the  king?" 

"  It  is  well-nigh  the  last  chance,  monsieur;  the  queen- 
mother  and  all  her  suite  are  occupied  with  services  ajid  ser- 
mons this  week;  and  next  week  private  access  to  the  king 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  43 

will  be  far  more  diflBcult.  I  have  waited  as  long  as  I  could 
that  you  might  gaiu  strength  to  supjaort  the  fatigue." 

"  Hope  cancels  fatigue/^  said  Eerenger,  already  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room  searching  for  his  long-disused  cloak, 
sword,  gloves,  hat,  and  mask. 

"  Not  the  sword,"  said  Pare,  ''  so  please  you.  Monsieur 
le  Baron  must  condescend  to  obtain  entrance  as  my  assist- 
ant— the  plain  black  doublet — yes,  that  is  admirable;  but  I 
did  not  know  that  monsieur  was  so  tall,"  he  added,  in  some 
consternation,  as,  for  the  first  time,  he  saw  his  patient 
standing  up  at  his  full  height — unusual  even  in  England, 
and  more  so  in  France.  Indeed,  Berenger  had  grown  dur- 
ing his  year  of  illness,  and  being,  of  course,  extremely  thin, 
looked  all  the  taller,  so  as  to  be  a  very  inconvenient  sub- 
ject to  smuggle  into  the  palace  unobserved. 

However,  Ambroise  had  made  wp  his  mind  to  the  risk, 
and  merely  assisted  Berenger  in  assuming  his  few  equip- 
ments, then  gave  him  his  arm  to  go  down  the  stairs.  Meet- 
ing Guibert  on  the  way,  Berenger  left  word  with  him  that 
he  was  going  out  to  take  the  air  with  Maitre  Pare;  and  on 
the  man's  offering  to  attend  him,  refused  the  proposal. 

Pare's  carriage  waited  in  the  court,  and  Berenger,  seated 
in  its  depths,  rolled  unseen  through  the  streets,  till  he 
found  himself  at  the  little  postern  of  the  Louvre,  the  very 
door  whence  he  was  to  have  led  off  his  poor  Eustacie. 
Hei-e  Ambroise  made  him  take  off  his  small  black  mask,  in 
spite  of  all  danger  of  his  scars  being  remarked,  since  masks 
were  not  etiquette  in  the  palace,  and,  putting  into  his 
arms  a  small  brass-bound  case  of  instruments,  asked  his 
pardon  for  preceding  him,  and  alighted  from  the  carriage. 

This  was  Ambroise's  usual  entrance,  and  it  was  merely 
guarded  by  a  Scottish  archer,  who  probably  observed  noth- 
ing. They  then  mounted  the  stone  stair,  the  same  where 
Osbert  had  dragged  down  his  insensible  master;  and  as,  at 
the  summit,  the  window  appeared  where  Berenger  had 
waited  those  weary  hours,  and  heard  the  first  notes  of  the 
bell  of  St.  Germain  TAuxerrois,  his  breath  came  in  such 
hurried  sobs,  that  Pare  would  fain  have  given  him  time  to 
recover  himself,  but  he  gasped,  "  Not  here — not  here;'* 
and  Pare,  seeing  that  he  could  still  move  on,  turned,  not 
to  the  corridor  leading  to  the  king's  old  apartments,  now 
too  full  of  dreadful  assocuxtions  for  jDOor  Charles,  but  toward 
those  of  the  young  queen.     Avoiding  the  anteroom,  where 


44  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

no  doubt  waited  pages,  ushers,  and  attendants,  Pare  pres- 
ently knocked  at  a  small  door,  so  hidden  in  the  wainscoting 
of  the  passage  that  only  a  luibitiie  could  have  found  it  with- 
out strict  search.  It  was  at  once  opened,  and  the  withered, 
motherly  face  of  an  old  woman  with  keen  black  eyes  under 
a  formal  tight  white  cap,  looked  out. 

"Eh!  Maitre  Pare,'^  slie  said,  "you  have  brought  the 
230or  young  gentleman?  On  my  faith,  he  looks  scarcely 
able  to  walk!  Come  in,  sir,  and  rest  a  while  in  my  cham- 
ber while  Maitre  Ambroise  goes  on  to  announce  you  to  the 
king.  He  is  more  at  ease  to-day,  the  poor  child,  and  will 
relish  some  fresh  talk.  " 

Berenger  knew  this  to  be  Philippine,  the  old  Huguenot 
nurse,  whom  Charles  IX.  loved  most  fondly,  and  in  whom 
he  found  his  greatest  comfort.  He  was  very  glad  to  sink 
into  the  seat  she  placed  for  him,  the  only  one  in  her  small, 
bare  room,  and  recover  breath  there  while  Pare  passed 
on  to  the  king,  and  she  talked  as  one  delighted  to  have  a 
hearer. 

"  Ah,  yes,  rest  yourself — stay;  I  will  give  you  a  few 
spoonfuls  of  the  cordial  jiotage  I  have  here  for  the  king;  it 
will  comfort  your  heart.  Ah!  you  have  been  cruelly 
mauled — but  he  would  have  saved  you  if  he  could."' 

"  Yes,  good  mother,  I  know  that;  the  king  has  been  my 
very  good  lord." 

"Ah!  blessings  on  you  if  you  say  so  from  your  heart, 
monsieur;  you  know  me  for  one  of  our  poor  Eeformed. 
And  I  tell  you — I  who  saw  him  born,  who  nursed  him  from 
his  birth — that,  suffer  as  you  may,  you  can  never  suffer  as 
he  does,  Maitre  Ambroise  may  talk  of  his  illness  coming 
from  blowing  too  much  on  his  horn;  I  know  better.  But, 
ah!  to  be  here  at  night  would  make  a  stone  shed  tears  of 
blood.  The  queen  and  I  know  it;  but  we  say  nothing,  we 
only  pray." 

The  sight  of  a  Huguenot  was  so  great  a  treat  to  the  old 
woman  in  her  isolated  life,  that  her  tongue  ran  thus  freely 
while  Berenger  sat,  scarce  daring  to  speak  or  breathe  in 
the  strange  boding  atmosphere  of  the  palace,  where  the 
nurse  and  surgeon  moved  as  tolerated,  privileged  persons,  in 
virtue  of  the  necessity  of  the  one  to  the  king — of  the  other 
to  all  the  world.  After  a  brief  interval  Pare  returned  and 
beckoned  to  Berenger,  who  followed  him  across  a  large 
state-bedroom  to  a  much  smaller  one,  which  he  entered 


THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  45 

from  under  a  heavy  blue  velvet  curtain,  and  found  himself 
in  an  atmosphere  heavy  with  warmth  and  perfume,  and 
strangely  oppressed  besides.  On  one  side  of  the  large  fire 
sat  the  young  queen,  faded,  wan,  and  with  all  animation 
or  energy  departed,  only  gazing  with  a  silent,  wistful  in- 
tentness  at  her  husband.  He  was  ojDposite  to  her  in  a  pil- 
lowed chair,  his  feet  on  a  stool,  with  a  deadly  white,  pad- 
ded, putfy  cheek,  and  his  great  black  eyes,  always  promi- 
nent, now  with  a  glassy  look,  and  strained  wide,  as  though 
always  gazing  after  some  horrible  sight.  ''  Madame  la 
Comtesse ' '  stood  in  her  old,  wooden  automaton  fashion 
behind  the  queen;  otherwise,  no  one  was  present  save  Pare, 
who,  as  he  held  up  the  curtain,  stood  back  to  let  M.  de 
Eibanmont  advance.  He  stood  still,  however,  merely  bow- 
ing low,  awaiting  an  invitation  to  come  forward,  and  trying 
to  repress  the  startled  tear  called  up  by  the  very  shock  of 
pity  at  the  mournful  aspect  of  the  young  king  and  queen, 

Elizabeth,  absorbed  in  her  husband,  and  indifferent  to 
all  besides,  did  not  even  turn  her  head  as  he  entered;  but 
Charles  signed  to  him  to  approach,  holding  out  a  yellow, 
dropsical-looking  hand;  and  as  he  dropped  on  one  knee 
and  kissed  it  fervently,  the  king  said,  "  Here  he  is, 
madame,  the  Baron  de  Eibanmont,  the  same  whose  little 
pleasure-boat  was  sucked  down  in  our  whirlpool.'^ 

All  Elizabeth's  memories  seemed  to  have  been  blotted 
out  in  that  whirlpool,  for  she  only  bowed  her  head  formally, 
and  gave  no  look  of  recognition,  though  she,  too,  allowed 
Berenger  to  salute  her  listless,  dejected  hand.  "  One 
would  hardly  have  known  him  again,"'  continued  the  king, 
in  a  low  husky  voice;  "  but  I  hoj^e,  sir,  I  see  you  recover- 
ing." 

"  Thanks,  sire,  to  Heaven's  goodness,  and  to  your  good- 
ness in  sparing  to  me  the  services  of  Maitre  Pare. " 

"Ah!  there  is  none  like  Pare  for  curing  a  wound  out- 
side," said  Charles,  then  leaned  back  silent;  and  Berenger, 
still  kneeling,  was  considering  whether  he  ought  to  proffer 
his  2)etition,  "when  the  king  continued,  "How  fares  your 
friend  Sidney,  Monsieur  le  Baron?" 

"  Right  well,  sire.  The  queen  has  made  him  one  of  her 
gentlemen." 

"  Not  after  this  fashion,"  said  Charles,  as  with  his 
finger  he  traced  the  long  scar  on  Berenger's  face.  "Our 
sister  of  England  has  different  badges  of  merit  from  ours 


46  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

for  her  good  subjects.     Ha!  what  say  tliey  of  us  in  Eng- 
land, baron?" 

"  I  have  lain  sick  at  liome,  sire,  and  have  neither  seen 
nor  heard/ ^  said  Berenger. 

"  Ah!  one  day  more  at  Montpipeau  had  served  your 
turn/' said  the  king;  "but  you  are  one  who  lias  floated 
lip  again.  One — one  at  least  whose  blood  is  not  on  my 
head." 

The  queen  looked  uj)  uneasy  and  imploring,  as  Charles 
continued:  "  Would  that  more  of  you  would  come  in  this 
way!  They  have  scored  you  dee]),  but  know  you  what  is 
gashed  deeper  still?  Your  king's  heart!  Ah!  you  will  not 
come,  as  Coligny  does,  from  his  gibbet,  with  liis  two  bleed- 
ing hands.  My  father  was  haunted  to  his  dying  day  by  the 
face  of  one  Huguenot  tailor.  Why,  I  see  a  score,  night  by 
night!     You  are  solid;  let  me  feel  you,  man." 

"  Monsieur  Pare,"  exclaimed  the  poor  queen,  "  take  him 
away. " 

"  No,  madame/'  said  the  king,  holding  tight  in  his  hot 
grasp  Berenger's  hand,  which  was  as  pale  as  his  own,  long, 
thin,  and  wasted,  but  cold  from  strong  emotion;  "  take 
not  away  the  only  welcome  sight  I  have  seen  for  well-nigh 
two  years."  He  coughed,  and  the  handkerchief  he  put  to 
his  lips  had  blood  on  it;  but  he  did  not  quit  his  hold  of  his 
visitor,  and  presently  said  in  a  feeble  whis23er,  "Tell  me 
how  did  you  escape?" 

Pare,  over  the  king's  head,  signed  to  him  to  make  his 
narrative  take  time;  and  indeed  his  speech  was  of  necessity 
so  slow,  that  by  the  time  he  had  related  how  Osbert  had 
brought  him  safely  to  England,  the  king  had  recovered 
himself  so  as  to  say,  "  See  what  it  is  to  have  a  faithful  serv- 
ant. Which  of  those  they  have  left  me  woukl  do  as  much 
for  me?  And  now,  being  once  away  with  your  life,  what 
brings  you  back  to  this  realm  of  ours,  after  your  last  wel- 
come?'' 

"  I  left  my  wife  here,  sire." 

"  Ha!  and  the  cousin  would  have  married  her — obtained 
permission  to  call  himself  Nid-de-Merle — but  she  slipped 
through  his  clumsy  fingers;  did  she  not?  Did  you  know 
anything  of  her,  madame?" 

"  No,"  said  the  queen,  looking  up.  "  She  wrote  to  me 
once  from  her  convent;  but  I  knew  I  could  do  nothing  for 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  47 

her  but  bring  her  enemies'  notice  on  her;  so  I  made  no  an- 
swer. ' ' 

Berenger  could  hardly  conceal  his  start  of  indignation — 
less  at  the  absolute  omission,  than  at  the  weary  indifference 
of  the  queen's  confession.  Perhaps  the  king  saw  it,  for  he 
added,  "  So  it  is,  liibaumont;  tlie  kindest  service  we  can 
do  our  friends  is  to  let  them  alone;  and,  after  all,  it  was 
not  the  worse  for  her.     She  did.  evade  her  enemies?" 

"  Yes,  sire/'  said  Berenger,  commanding  and  steadying 
his  voice  with  great  difficulty,  "  she  escaped  in  time  to  give 
birth  to  our  child  in  the  ruined  loft  of  an  old  grange  of  the 
Templars,  under  the  care  of  a  Huguenot  farmer,  and  a 
pastor  who  had  known  my  father.  Then  she  took  refuge  in 
La  Sablerie,  and  wrote  to  my  mother,  deeming  me  dead.  I 
was  just  well  enough  to  go  in  quest  of  her.  I  came — ah! 
sire,  I  found  only  charred  ruins.  Your  majesty  knows  how 
Huguenot  burgs  are  dealt  with." 
''  And  she—?" 

Berenger  answered  but  by  a  look. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  tell  me  this?"  said  the  king, 
passionately.  "  Do  you  not  know  that  they  have  killed 
me  already?  I  thought  you  came  because  there  was  still 
some  one  I  could  aid." 

"  There  is,  there  is,  sire,"  said  Berenger,  for  once  inter- 
rupting royalty.  "  None  save  you  can  give  me  my  child. 
It  is  almost  certain  that  a  good  priest  saved  \t;  \)ut  it  is  in 
a  convent,  and  only  with  a  royal  order  can  one  of  my  re- 
ligion either  obtain  it,  or  even  have  my  questions  answered.  ' 

"  Nor  with  one  in  Paris,"  said  the  king  dryly;  "  but  in 
the  country  the  good  mothers  may  still  honor  their  king's 
hand.  Here,  Ambroise,  taken  pen  and  ink,  and  write  the 
order.     To  whom?" 

"  To  the  Mother  Prioress  of  the  Ursulines  at  Lugon,  so 
please  your  majesty,"  said  Berenger,  "  to  let  me  have  pos- 
session of  my  daughter. " 

"Eh!  is  it  only  a  little  girl?" 

"  Yes,  sire;  but  my  heart  yearns  for  her  all  the  more,'* 
said  Berenger,  with  glistening  eyes. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  poor  king.  "  Mine,  too,  is 
a  little  girl;  and  I  bless  God  daily  that  she  is  no  son — to  be 
the  most  wretclied  thing  in  France.  Let  her  come  in, 
madame.  She  is  little  older  than  my  friend's  daughter.  I 
would  show  her  to  him." 


48  THE  CHAPLKT  OF  PEARLS. 

The  queen  signed  to  Mme.  la  Comtesse  to  fetch  the 
child,  and  Bereuger  added,  "  Hire,  you  could  do  a  farther 
benefit  to  my  i)oor  little  one.  One  more  signature  of  yours 
would  attest  that  ratification  of  my  marriage  which  took 
place  in  your  majesty's  presence." 

"Ah!  I  remember,''  said  Charles.  "You  may  have 
any  name  of  mine  that  can  help  you  to  oust  that  villain 
Narcisse;  only  wait  to  use  it — spare  me  any  more  storms. 
It  will  serve  your  turn  as  well  when  I  am  beyond  them, 
and  you  will  make  your  claim  good.  What,^'  seeing 
Berenger's  interrogative  look,  "  do  you  not  know  that  by 
the  marriage-contract  the  lands  of  each  were  settled  on  the 
survivor?" 

"  No,  sire;  I  have  never  seen  the  marriage-contract. " 

"  Your  kinsman  knew  it  well,"  said  Charles. 

Just  then,  Mme.  la  Comtesse  returned,  leading  the  little 
princess  by  the  long  ribbons  at  her  waist;  Charles  bent  for- 
ward, calling,  "  Here,  ma  iMite,  come  here.  Here  is  one 
who  loves  thy  father.  Look  well  at  him,  that  thou  mayest 
know  him. ' ' 

The  little  Mme.  EHzabeth  so  far  understood,  that,  with 
a  certain  lofty  condescension,  she  extended  her  hand  for 
the  stranger  to  kiss,  and  thus  drew  from  the  king  the  first 
smile  that  Berenger  bad  seen.  8he  was  more  than  half  a 
year  older  than  the  Berenger  on  whom  his  hopes  were  set, 
and  whom  he  trusted  to  find  not  such  a  pale,  feeble,  totter- 
ing little  creature  as  this  poor  young  daughter  of  France, 
whose  round  black  eyes  gazed  wonderingly  at  his  scar;  but 
she  was  very  j)recocious,  and  even  already  too  much  of  a 
royal  lady  to  indulge  in  any  awkward  personal  observation. 

By  the  time  she  bad  been  rewarded  for  her  good  behav- 
ior by  one  of  the  dried  plums  in  her  father's  comfit-box, 
the  order  had  been  written  by  Pare,  and  Berenger  had  pre- 
pared the  certificate  for  the  king's  signature,  according  to 
the  form  given  him  by  his  grandfather. 

"  Your  writing  shakes  nearly  as  much  as  mine,''  said 
the  poor  king,  as  he  wrote  his  name  to  this  latter.  "  Now, 
madame,  you  had  better  sign  it  also;  and  tell  this  gentle- 
man where  to  find  Father  Meinhard  in  Austria.  He  was  a 
little  too  true  for  us,  do  you  see — would  not  give  thanks  for 
shedding  innocent  blood.  Ah!"  and  with  a  gasp  of  mourn- 
ful longing,  the  king  sunk  back,  while  Elizabeth,  at  his 
biddnig,  added  her  name  to  the  certificate,  and  murmured 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  49 

the  name  of  a  convent  in  Vienna^  where  her  late  confessor 
could  be  found. 

"  I  can  not  thank  your  majesty  eiiough/'  said  Berenger. 
"  My  child's  rights  are  now  secure  in  England  at  least, 
and  this  " — as  he  held  the  other  pu23er  for  the  king — "  will 
give  her  to  me. " 

"  Ah!  take  it  for  what  it  is  worth/'  said  the  king,  as  he 
scrawled  his  "  Charles  "  upon  it.  ''This  order  must  be 
used  j)romptly,  or  it  will  avail  you  nothing.  Write  to  Am- 
broise  how  you  speed;  that  is,  if  it  will  bring  me  one  breath 
of  good  news. ' '  And  as  Berenger  kissed  his  hand  with  tear- 
ful, inarticulate  thanks,  he  proceeded,  "  Save  for  that 
cause,  I  would  ask  you  to  come  to  me  again.  It  does  me 
good.  It  is  like  a  breath  from  Montpi]3eau — the  last  days 
of  hope — before  the  frenzy — the  misery." 

"  Whenever  your  majesty  does  me  the  honor — "  began 
Berenger,  forgetting  all  except  the  dying  man. 

"lam  not  so  senseless,"  interrupted  the  king  sharply; 
*'  it  would  be  losing  the  only  chance  of  undoing  one  wrong. 
Only,  Eibaumont,"  he  added  fervently,  "  for  once  let  me 
hear  that  one  man  has  pardoned  me.  ■" 

''  Sire,  sire,"  sobbed  Berenger,  totally  overcome,  "  how 
can  I  speak  the  word?  How  feel  aught  but  love,  loyalty, 
gratitude?" 

Charles  half  smiled  again  as  he  said  in  sad  meditation — 
"  Ah!  it  was  in  me  to  have  been  a  good  king  if  they  had 
let  me.  Think  of  me,  bid  your  friend  Sidney  think  of  me, 
as  I  would  have  been — not  as  I  have  been — and  pray,  pray 
for  me."  Then  hiding  his  face  in  his  handkerchief,  in  a 
paroxysm  of  grief  and  horror,  he  murmured  in  a  stifled 
tone,  "  Blood,  blood,  deliver  me,  good  Lord!" 

In  efPect,  there  was  so  sudden  gush  of  blood  from  mouth 
and  nose  that  Berenger  sprung  to  his  feet  in  dismay,  and 
was  bona  fide  performing  the  part  of  assistant  to  the  sur- 
geon, when,  at  the  queen's  cry,  not  only  the  nurse  Philip- 
pine hurried  in,  but  with  her  a  very  dark,  keen-looking 
man,  who  al  once  began  applying  strong  essences  to  the 
king's  face,  as  Berenger  supported  his  head.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments Pare  looked  up  at  Berenger,  and  setting  him  free, 
intimated  to  him,  between  sign  and  whisper,  to  go  into 
Philippine's  room  and  wait  there;  and  it  was  high  time, 
for  though  the  youth  had  felt  nothing  in  the  stress  of  the 
moment,  he  was  almost  swooning  when  he  reached  the  lit- 


60  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

tie  chamber,  and  lay  back  in  the  nurse's  chair,  with  closed 
eyes,  scarcely  conscious  how  time  went,  or  even  where  he 
"was,  till  he  was  partly  aroused  by  hearing  steps  returning. 

"The  poor  young  man,"  said  Phili lupine's  kind  voice, 
"he  is  fainting.  Ah!  no  wonder  it  overcame  any  kind 
heart. " 

"  How  is  the  king?"  Berenger  tried  to  say,  but  his  own 
voice  still  sounded  unnatural  and  far  away. 

"  He  is  better  for  the  time,  and  will  sleep,"  said  Pare, 
administering  to  his  other  patient  some  cordial  drops  as  he 
spoke.  "  There,  sir;  you  will  soon  be  able  to  return  to 
the  carriage.     This  has  been  a  sore  trial  to  your  strength. " 

"  But  1  have  gained  all — all  I  could  hope,"  said  Beren- 
ger, looking  at  his  precious  papers.  "  But,  alas!  the  poor 
king.^' 

"  You  will  never,  never  let  a  word  of  blame  pass  against 
him,"  cried  Philippine  earnestly.  "  It  is  well  that  one  of 
our  peojjle  should  have  seen  how  it  really  is  with  him.  All 
I  regret  is  that  Maitre  Kene  tlirust  himself  in  and  saw  you.'' 

"  Who?"  said  Berenger,  who  had  been  too  much  en- 
grossed to  perceive  any  one. 

"  Maitre  Bene  of  Milan,  the  queen-mother's  perfumer. 
He  came  with  some  ]3lea  of  bringing  a  pouncet-box  from 
her,  but  I  wager  it  was  as  a  s^iy.  I  was  doing  my  best  to 
walk  him  gently  off  when  the  queen's  cry  called  me,  and 
he  must  needs  come  in  after  me. " 

"  I  saw  him  not,"  said  Berenger;  "  perhaps  he  marked 
not  me  in  the  confusion. " 

' '  I  fear, "  said  Pare,  gravely  ' '  he  was  more  likely  to 
have  his  senses  about  him  than  you.  Monsieur  le  Baron; 
these  bleedings  of  the  king's  are  not  so  new  to  us  familiars 
di  the  palace.  The  best  thing  now  to  be  done  is  to  have 
fou  to  the  carriage,  if  you  can  move." 

Berenger,  now  quite  recovered,  stood  up,  and  gave  his 
<varm  thanks  to  the  old  nurse  for  her  kindness  to  him. 

"Ah!  sir,"  she  said,  "  you  ai-e  one  of  us.  Pray,  pray, 
that  God  will  have  mercy  on  my  poor  child!  He  has  the 
?ruth  in  his  heart.    Pray  that  it  may  save  him  at  the  last." 

Ambroise,  knowing  that  she  would  never  cease  speaking 
while  there  was  any  one  to  hear  her,  almost  dragged  Beren- 
ger out  at  the  little  secret  door,  conveyed  him  safely  down 
the  stairs,  and  placed  him  again  in  the  carriage.     Neither 


1:he  chaplet  of  peaels.  51 

spoke  till  the  surgeon  said;,  "  You  have  seen  a  sad  sight. 
Monsieur  le  Baron:  I  need  not  bid  you  be  discreet/' 

"  There  are  some  things  that  go  too  deep  for  speech/' 
sighed  the  almost  English  Berenger;  then,  after  a  pause, 
"  Is  there  no  hope  for  him?     Is  he  indeed  dying?" 

"  Without  a  miracle,  he  can  not  live  a  month.  He  is 
as  truly  slain  by  the  St.  Bartholomew  as  ever  its  martyrs 
were,"  said  Pare,  moved  out  of  his  usual  cautious  reserve 
toward  one  who  had  seen  so  much  and  felt  so  truly.  "  I 
tell  you,  sir,  that  his  mother  hath  as  truly  slain  her  sons, 
as  if  she  had  sent  Rene  there  to  them  with  his  drugs.  Ac- 
cording as  they  have  consciences  and  hearts,  so  they  pine 
and  perish  under  her  rule. " 

Berenger  shuddered,  and  almost  sobbed,  "  And  hath  he 
no  better  hope,  no  comforter?"  he  asked. 

*'  None  save  good  old  Flipote.  As  you  heard,  the  queen- 
mother  will  not  suffer  his  own  Church  to  speak  to  him  in 
her  true  voice.  No  confessor  but  one  chosen  by  the  Car- 
dinal of  Lorraine  may  come  near  him;  and  with  him  all  is 
mere  ceremony.  But  if  at  the  last  he  opens  his  ear  and 
heart  to  take  in  the  true  hope  of  salvation,  it  will  be  from 
the  voice  of  poor  old  Philippine.'' 

And  so  it  was!  It  was  Philippine,  who  heard  him  in  the 
night  sobbing  over  the  piteous  words,  ''  My  God,  what  hor- 
rors, what  blood!"  and,  as  she  took  from  him  his  tear- 
drenched  handkerchief,  spoke  to  him  of  the  Blood  that 
speaketh  better  things  than  the  blood  of  Abel;  and  it  was 
she  who,  in  the  final  agony,  heard  and  treasured  these  last 
words,  "  If  the  Lord  Jesus  will  indeed  receive  me  into  the 
company  of  the  blest!"  Surely,  never  was  repentance 
deeper  than  that  of  Charles  IX. — and  these,  his  parting- 
words,  were  such  as  to  inspire  the  trust  that  it  was  not  re- 
morse. 

All-important  as  Berenger's  expedition  had  been,  he  still 
could  think  of  little  but  the  poor  king;  and,  wearied  out  as 
he  was,  he  made  very  little  reply  to  the  astonished  friends 
who  gathered  round  him  on  his  return.  He  merely  told 
Philip  that  he  had  succeeded,  and  then  lay  almost  without 
speaking  on  his  bed  till  the  embassador  made  his  evening 
visit,  when  he  showed  him  the  two  papers.  Sir  Francis 
could  hardly  believe  his  good  fortune  in  having  obtained 
this  full  attestation  of  the  marriage,  and  promised  to  send 
to  the  English  embassador  m  Germany,  to  obtain  the  like 


53  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

from  Father  Meinliard.  The  document  itself  he  advised 
Bereuger  not  to  expose  to  the  dangers  of  the  French  jour- 
ney, but  to  leave  it  with  him  to  be  forwarded  direct  to  Lord 
Walwyn.  It  was  most  important,  both  as  obviating  any 
dispute  on  the  legitimacy  of  the  child,  if  she  lived ;  or,  if 
not,  it  would  establish  those  rights  of  Bereuger  to  the  Nid- 
de-Merle  estates,  of  which  he  had  heard  from  the  king. 
This  information  explained  what  were  the  claims  that  the 
chevalier  was  so  anxious  to  hush  up  by  a  marriage  with 
Mme.  de  Selinville.  Berenger,  as  his  wife's  heir,  was  by 
this  contract  the  true  owner  of  th?  estates  seized  by  the 
chevalier  and  his  son,  and  could  only  be  ousted,  either  by 
his  enemies  proving  his  contract  to  Eustacie  invalid  and  to 
be  unfulfilled,  or  by  his  own  voluntary  resignation.  The 
whole  scheme  was  clear  to  Walsingham,  and  he  wasted  ad- 
vice upon  unheeding  ears,  as  to  how  Berenger  should  act 
to  obtain  restitution  so  soon  as  he  should  be  of  age,  and 
how  he  should  try  to  find  out  the  notary  who  had  drawn  up 
the  contract.  If  Berenger  cared  at  all,  it  was  rather  for 
the  sake  of  punishing  and  balking  Narcisse,  than  with  any 
desire  of  the  inheritance;  and  even  for  righteous  indigna- 
tion he  was  just  now  too  weary  and  too  sad.  He  could  not 
discuss  his  rights  to  Nid-de-Merle,  if  they  passed  over  the 
rights  of  Eustacie's  child,  round  whom  his  affections  were 
winding  themselves  as  his  sole  hope. 

The  next  evening  Pare  came  in  quest  of  Berenger,  and 
after  a  calm,  refreshing,  hopeful  Ascension-day,  which  had 
been  a  real  balm  to  the  weary  spirit,  found  him  enjojing 
the  sweet  May  sunshine  under  a  tree  in  the  garden.  "I 
am  glad  to  find  you  out-of-doors,"  he  said;  "  I  fear  I  must 
hasten  your  departure. " 

"  I  burn  to  lose  no  time,"  cried  Berenger.  "  Prithee, 
tell  them  I  may  safely  go!  They  all  call  it  madness  to 
think  of  setting  out." 

"Ordinarily  it  would  be,"  said  Pare;  ''but  Eene  of 
Milan  has  sent  his  underlings  to  see  who  is  my  new,  tall  as- 
sistant. He  wall  report  all  to  the  queen-mother;  and 
though  in  this  house  you  could  scarcely  suffer  personal 
harm,  yet  the  purpose  of  your  journey  might  be  frustrated, 
and  the  king  might  have  to  undergo  another  of  those  dour^ 
rasques  which  he  may  well  dread. " 

"  I  will  go  this  very  night,"  said  Berenger,  starting  up; 
'*  where  is  Philip? —  where  is  Sir  Francis?" 


THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  53 

Even  that  very  night  Pare  thought  not  too  soon,  and  the 
Ascension-tide  ilhmiinations  brought  so  many  persons 
abroad  that  it  vvould  be  easy  to  go  unnoticed;  and  in  the 
general  festivity,  wlien  every  one  was  coming  and  going 
from  the  country  to  gaze  or  worship  at  the  shrines  and  the 
images  decked  in  every  church,  it  would  be  easy  for  the 
barriers  to  be  jjassed  without  observation.  Then  the 
brothers  would  sleep  at  a  large  hostel,  the  first  on  the  road 
to  England,  where  Walsingham's  couriers  and  guests 
always  baited,  and  the  next  nu)rning  he  would  send  out  to 
them  their  attendants,  with  horses  for  their  further  jour- 
ney back  into  Anjou.  If  any  enemies  were  on  the  watch, 
this  would  probably  put  them  off  the  scent,  and  it  only  re- 
mained further  to  be  debated,  whether  the  Norman  Guibert 
had  better  be  dismissed  at  once  or  taken  with  them.  There 
was  always  a  soft  place  in  Berenger's  heart  for  a  Norman, 
and  the  man  was  really  useful;  moreover,  he  would  cer- 
tainly be  safer  eniploj^ed  and  in  their  company,  than  turned 
loose  to  tell  the  chevalier  all  he  might  have  picked  up  in 
the  Hotel  d'Angleterre.  It  was,  therefore,  decided  that  he 
should  be  the  attendant  of  the  two  young  men,  and  he  re- 
ceived immediate  orders  that  night  to  pack  up  their  gar- 
ments, and  hold  himself  ready. 

Nevertheless,  before  the  hour  of  departure,  Guibert  had 
stolen  out,  had  an  interview  with  the  Chevalier  Eibaumont 
at  the  Hotel  de  Selinville,  and  came  back  with  more  than 
one  good  French  crown  in  his  pocket,  and  hopes  of  more. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE   ORPHANS   OF   LA   SABLERIE. 

The  cream-tarts  with  pepper  in  them. 

Arabian  Nights. 

Hope,  spring,  and  recovery  carried  the  young  Baron  de 
Eibaumont  on  his  journey  infinitely  better  than  his  com- 
panions had  dared  to  expect.  He  dreaded  nothing  so  much 
as  being  overtaken  by  those  tidings  which  would  make  King 
Charleses  order  mere  waste  paper;  and  therefore  pressed  on 
with  little  regard  to  his  own  fatigue,  although  happily  with 
increasing  strength,  which  carried  him  a  further  stage 
every  day. 

Lucon  was  a  closely  guarded,  thoroughly  Catholic  city. 


S4  IHE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

and  his  safe-conduct  was  jealously  demanded ;  buttlie  name 
of  Eibaumont  silenced  all  doubt.  "  A  relation,  apparently, 
CI  Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle/'  said  tlie  officer  on  guard,  and 
politely  invited  him  to  dinner  and  bed  at  the  castle;  but 
tbese  he  thought  it  prudent  to  decline,  explaining  that  he 
brought  a  letter  from  the  king  to  the  mother  jH'ioress. 

The  convent  walls  were  pointed  out  to  him,  and  he  only 
delayed  at  the  inn  long  enough  to  arrange  his  dress  as 
might  appear  to  the  abbess  most  respectful,  and,  poor  boy, 
be  least  likely  to  startle  the  babe  on  wliom  his  heart  was 
set.  At  almost  every  inn,  the  little  children  had  shrieked 
and  run  from  his  white  and  gashed  face,  and  his  tall,  lank 
figure  in  deep  black;  and  it  was  very  sadly  that  he  said  to 
Philip,  *'  You  must  come  with  me.  If  she  turns  from  me 
as  an  ogre,  your  bright  ruddy  face  will  win  her."' 

The  men  were  left  at  the  inn  with  charge  to  let  Guibert 
speak  for  them,  and  to  avoid  showing  their  nationality. 
The  three  months  of  Paris,  and  the  tailors  there,  had  ren- 
dered Philip  much  less  conspicuous  than  formerly;  but  still 
people  looked  at  him  narrowly  as  he  followed  his  brother 
along  the  street.  The  two  lads  had  made  up  their  minds 
to  encumber  themselves  with  no  nurses,  or  worianfolk. 
The  child  should  be  carried,  fondled,  and  fed  by  her  boy- 
father  alone.  He  believed  that,  when  he  once  held  her  in 
his  arms,  he  should  scarcely  even  wish  to  give  her  up  to 
any  one  else;  and,  in  his  concentration  of  mind,  had  hardly 
thought  of  all  the  inconveniences  and  absurdities  that  would 
arise;  but,  really,  was  chiefly  occupied  by  the  fear  that  she 
would  not  at  first  let  him  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  hold 
her  to  his  heart. 

Philip,  a  little  more  alive  to  the  probabilities,  neverthe- 
less was  disposed  to  regard  them  as  "  fun  and  pastime.'' 
He  had  had  many  a  frolic  witli  his  baby-sisters,  and  this 
would  be  only  a  prolonged  one;  besides,  it  was  "  Berry's  " 
one  hope,  and  to  rescue  any  creature  from  a  convent  was  a 
good  work,  in  his  Protestant  eyes,  which  had  not  become  a 
whit  less  prejudiced  at  Paris.  So  he  was  quite  prepared  to 
take  his  full  share  of  his  niece,  or  more,  if  she  should  ob- 
ject to  her  father's  looks,  and  he  only  suggested  halting  at 
an  old  woman's  stall  to  buy  some  sweetmeats  by  way  of 
propitiation — a  proceeding  which  much  amazed  the  gazing 
population  of  Lucon.  Two  reports  were  going  about,  one 
that  the  king  had  vowed  a  silver  image  of  himself  to  St. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  55 

Ursula,  if  her  prioress  would  obtain  his  recovery  by  their 
prayers;  the  other  that  he  was  going  to  translate  her  to  the 
royal  abbey  of  Fontevrault  to  take  charge  of  his  daughter,. 
Mme.  Elizabeth.  Any  way,  high  honor  by  a  royal  mes- 
senger must  be  intended  to  the  prioress,  Mers  Monique,  and 
the  Luconnais  were  proud  of  her  sanctity. 

The  portress  had  already  heard  the  report,  and  ojoened 
her  wicket  even  before  the  bell  could  be  rung,  then  eagerly 
ushered  him  into  the  parlor,  the  barest  and  most  ascetic- 
looking  of  rooms,  witli  a  boarded  partition  across,  unen- 
livened except  by  a  grated  hollow,  and  the  outer  portion 
empty,  save  of  a  table,  three  chairs,  and  a  rugged  woodcut 
of  a  very  tall  St.  Ursula,  with  a  crowd  of  pigmy  virgins, 
not  reaching  higher  than  the  ample  hem  of  her  petticoat. 

"  Did  Aunt  Cecily  live  in  such  a  place  as  this?''  ex- 
claimed Philip,  gazing  round;  "  or  do  they  live  on  the  fat 
among  down  cushions  inside  there?" 

"  Hush — sh,''  said  Berenger,  frowning  with  anxiety;  for 
a  rustling  was  heard  behind  the  screen,  and  presently  a 
black  veil  and  white  scapulary  appeared,  and  a  sweet  calm 
voice  said,  "  Peace  be  with  you,  sir;  what  are  your  com- 
mands?'' 

Berenger  bowed  low,  and  replied,  "  Thanks,  reverend 
lady,  I  bring  a  letter  from  the  king,  to  request  your  aid  in 
a  matter  that  touches  me  nearly." 

"  His  Majesty  shall  be  obeyed.     Come  you  from  him?" 

He  was  forced  to  rej^ly  to  her  inquiries  after  the  poor 
king's  health  before  she  ojDened  the  letter,  taking  it  under 
her  veil  to  read  it;  so  that  as  he  stood,  trembling,  almost 
sickening  with  anxiety,  and  scarcely  able  to  breathe,  he 
could  see  nothing  but  the  black  folds;  and  at  her  low  mur- 
mured exclamation  he  started  as  if  at  a  cannon-shot. 

"  De  Ribaumont!"  she  said;  "  can  it  be — the  child — of 
— of — our  jDoor  dear  little  pens ionnaire  at  Bellaise?" 

"It  is — it  is!"  cried  Berenger.  "  Oh,  madam e,  you 
knew  her  at  Bellaise?" 

"Even  so,"  replied  the  prioress,  who  was  in  fact  the 
Soeur  Monique  so  loved  and  regretted  by  Eustacie.  "I 
loved  and  prayed  for  her  with  ill  my  heart  when  she  was 
claimed  by  the  world.  Heaven's  will  be  done;  but  the  poor 
little  thing  loved  me,  and  I  have  often  thought  that  had  I 
been  still  at  Bellaise  when  she  returned  she  would  not  have 
fled.     But  of  this  child  I  have  no  knowledge. " 


56  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEA-ELS. 

"  You  took  charge  of  tlie  babes  of  La  Sable rie,  madame,'* 
said  Berenger,  almost  under  his  breath. 

"  Her  infant  among  those  poor  orphans!"  exclaimed  the 
prioress,  more  and  more  startled  and  amazed. 

"  If  it  be  anywhere  in  this  life,  it  is  in  your  good  keep- 
ing, madanic,"  said  Berenger,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 
"  Oh!  I  entreat,  withhold  her  no  longer." 

"  But/'  exclaimed  the  bewildered  nun,  "  who  would  you 
then  bo,  sir?" 

"  I — her  husband— widower  of  Eustacie — father  of  her 
orphan!''  cried  Berenger.  "  She  can  not  be  detained  from 
me,  either  by  right  or  law." 

"  Her  husband,"  still  hesitated  Monique.  "  But  he  is 
dead.  The  poor  little  one — Heaven  have  mercy  on  her 
soul — wrote  me  a  piteous  entreaty,  and  gav^e  large  alms  for 
jjrayers  and  masses  for  his  soul." 

The  sob  in  his  throat  almost  strangled  his  speech. 
"  She  mourned  me  to  the  last  as  dead.  I  was  borne  away 
senseless  and  desperately  wounded;  and  when  I  recovered 
power  to  seek  her  it  was  too  late!  Oh,  madame!  have  pity 
— let  me  see  all  she  has  left  to  me. " 

"  Is  it  possible?"  said  the  nun.  "  We  would  not  learn 
the  parentage  of  our  nurslings  since  all  alike  become  chil- 
dren of  Mother  Church."  Then,  suddenly  bethinking  her- 
self, "  But,  surely,  monsieur  can  not  be  a  Huguenot." 

It  was  no  doubt  the  first  time  she  had  been  brought  in 
contact  with  a  schismatic,  and  she  could  not  believe  that 
such  respectful  courtesy  could  come  from  one.  He  saw  he 
must  curb  himself,  and  explain.  I  am  neither  Calvinist 
nor  Sacrementaii'e,  madame.  I  was  bred  in  England, 
where  we  love  our  own  Church.  My  aunt  is  a  Benedictine 
sister,  who  keeps  her  rule  strictly,  though  her  convent  is 
destroyed ;  and  it  is  to  her  that  I  shall  carry  my  daughter. 
Ah,  lady,  did  you  but  know  my  heart's  hunger  for  her!" 

The  prioress,  better  read  in  the  lives  of  the  saints  than  in 
the  sects  of  heretics,  did  not  know  whether  this  meant  that 
he  was  of  her  own  faith  or  not;  and  her  woman's  heart 
being  much  moved  by  his  pleadings,  she  said,  "  I  will 
heartily  give  your  daughter  to  you,  sir,  as  indeed  I  must, 
if  she  be  here;  but  3-ou  have  never  seen  her?" 

"  No;  only  her  empty  cradle  in  the  burned  house.  But 
I  must  know  her.     She  is  a  year  old. " 

*'  We  have  two  babes  of  that  age;  but  I  fear  me  you  will 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  57 

scarce  see  much  likeness  iu  either  of  them  to  any  one  you 
knew,"  said  the  prioress  thoughtfully.  "  However,  there 
are  two  girls  old  enough  to  remember  the  parentage  of 
their  companions,  though  we  forbade  them  to  mention  it. 
Would  you  see  them,  sir?" 

"  And  the  infants,  so  please  you,  reverend  mother,' '  ex- 
claimed Berenger. 

She  desired  him  to  wait,  and  after  an  interval  of  suspense 
there  was  a  pattering  of  little  sabots  beliind  the  partition, 
and  through  the  grating  he  beheld  six  little  girls  in  blue 
serge  frocks  and  tight  white  caps.  Of  the  two  infants,  one 
with  a  puny,  wizen,  pinched  face  was  in  the  arms  of  the 
prioress;  the  other,  a  big,  stout,  coarse  child,  with  hard 
brown  cheeks  and  staring  black  eyes,  was  on  its  own  feet, 
but  with  a  great  basket-work  frame  round  its  head  to  save 
it  from  falls.  There  were  two  much  more  prepossessing 
children  of  three  or  four,  and  two  intelligent-looking  girls 
of  i^erhaps  eight  and  ten,  to  the  elder  of  whom  the  prioress 
turned,  saying,  "  Agathe,  I  release  you  from  my  command 
not  to  speak  of  your  former  life,  and  desire  you  to  tell  this 
gentleman  if  you  know  who  were  the  parents  of  these  two 
little  ones." 

*' Yes,  reverend  mother,"  said  Agathe,  readily;  "the 
old  name  of  Claire  "  (touching  the  larger  baby)  "  was 
Salome  Potior:  her  mother  was  the  washerwoman;  and 
Annonciade,  I  don^'t  know  what  her  name  was,  but  her 
father  worked  for  Maitre  Brassier  who  made  the  kettles. " 

Philip  felt  relieved  to  be  free  from  all  doubt  about  these 
very  uninviting  little  ones,  but  Berenger,  though  sighing 
heavily,  asked  quickly,  "  Permit  me,  madame,  a  few  ques- 
tions.    Little  maid,  did  you  ever  hear  of  Isaac  Gardon?" 

"Maitre  Isaac!  Oh,  yes,  sir.  We  used  to  hear  him 
preach  at  the  church,  and  sometimes  he  catechized  us," 
she  said,  and  her  lip  quivered. 

"  He  was  a  heretic,  and  I  abjure  him,"  added  the  other 
girl,  perking  up  her  head. 

"  Was  he  in  the  town?  What  became  of  him?"  ex- 
claimed Berenger. 

"He  would  not  be  in  the  town,''  said  the  elder  girl. 
*'  My  poor  father  had  sent  him  word  to  go  away." 
"  Ehquoi?" 

"Our  father  was  Bailli  la  Grasse,"  interposed  the 
younger  girl  consequentially.     "Our  names  were  Martho 


58  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

and  Lucie  la  Grasse,  but  Agatlie  and  Eulalie  are  mucli 
prettier. '^ 

"  But  Maitre  Gardon?"  still  asked  Berenger. 

"  He  ought  to  be  taken  and  burned/  'said  the  new  Eula- 
lie; "  he  brought  it  all  on  us/' 

"  How  was  it?  Was  my  wife  with  him — Madame  de 
Ribaumont?     Sj)eak,  my  child/' 

"  That  was  the  name/'  said  one  girl. 

*'  But  Maitre  Gardon  had  no  great  lady  with  him,"  said 
the  other,  "  only  his  son's  widow  and  her  baby,  and  they 
lodged  with  Noemi  Laurent,  who   made  the  patisserie." 

Ah!"  cried  Berenger,  lighting  up  with  the  new  ray  of 
hope.  "  Tell  me,  my  dear,  that  they  fled  with  him,  and 
where?" 

"  I  do  not  know  of  their  going/'  said  Agathe,  confused 
and  overborne  by  his  eagerness. 

"  Curb  yourself,  sir, "said  the  prioress, ''  they  will  recol- 
lect themselves  and  tell  you  what  they  can. " 

"  It  was  the  little  cakes  with  lemoned  sugar,"  suggested 
the  younger  girl.  "Maitre  Tressan  always  said  there 
would  be  a  judgment  on  us  for  our  daintiness.  Ah!  he 
was  very  cross  about  them,  and  after  all  it  was  the  Maire  of 
Lucon  who  eat  fifteen  of  them  all  at  once;  but  then  he  is 
not  a  heretic. " 

Happily  for  Berenger,  Agathe  unraveled  this  speech. 

"  Mademoiselle  Gardon  made  the  sugar-lemoned  cakes, 
and  the  Mayor  of  Lucon,  one  day  when  he  supped  with  us, 
was  so  dehghted  with  them  that  he  carried  one  away  to 
show  his  wife,  and  afterward  he  sent  over  to  order  some 
more.  Then,  after  a  time,  he  sent  secretly  to  my  father  to 
ask  him  if  Maitre  Gardon  was  there:  for  there  was  a  great 
outcry  about  the  lemon  cakes,  and  the  Duke  of  AleuQon's 
army  were  coming  to  demand  his  daughter-in-law;  because 
it  seems  she  was  a  great  lady,  and  the  only  person  who 
could  make  the  cakes. " 

"  Agathe!"  exclaimed  the  prioress. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Berenger,  "  The  Cure  of  Nissard 
told  me  that  she  was  traced  through  cakes,  the  secret  of 
wbich  was  only  known  at  Bellaise." 

"  That  might  be,"  said  Mere  Monique.  "I  remember 
there  was  something  of  pride  in  the  cakes  of  Bellaise, 
though  I  always  tried  to  know  nothing  of  them. " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEA  ELS.  59 

"  Well,  little  one,  continue/'  entreated  Berenger. 
**  You  are  giving  me  life  and  hope. " 

"  I  heard  my  father  and  mother  talk  about  it/'  said 
Agathe,  gaining  courage,  "  He  said  he  knew  nothing  of 
great  people,  and  would  give  nobody  ujo  to  the  Catholics, 
but  as  to  Maitre  Isaac  he  should  let  him  know  that  the 
Catholic  army  were  coming,  and  that  it  would  be  better  for 
us  if  we  had  no  pastor  within  our  walls;  and  that  there  was 
a  cry  that  his  daughter's  lemon  cakes  were  made  by  the 
lady  that  was  lost. " 

"  And  they  escaj^ed!  Ah!  would  that  I  could  thank  the 
good  man!" 

"  Surely  yes,  sir,  I  never  saw  them  again.  Maitre  Tres- 
san  the  elder  prayed  with  us.  And  when  the  cruel  soldiers 
came  and  demanded  the  lady  and  Maitre  Isaac,  and  all  ob- 
stinate Calvinists,  our  mayor  and  my  father  and  the  rest 
made  answer  that  they  had  no  knowledge  of  the  lady,  and 
did  not  know  where  Maitre  Garden  was;  and  as  to  llugue- 
nots  we  were  all  one  as  obstinate  as  the  other,  but  that  we 
would  pay  any  fine  within  our  means  so  they  would  spare 
our  lives.  Then  the  man  in  the  fine  coat  said,  it  was  the 
lady  they  wanted,  not  the  fine;  and  a  great  deal  he  said  be- 
sides, I  know  not  what,  but  my  father  said,  '  It  is  our  life's 
blood  that  they  want,'  and  he  put  on  his  breastplate  and 
kissed  us  all,  and  went  away.  Then  came  horrible  noises 
and  firing  of  cannon,  and  the  neighbors  ran  in  and  said 
that  the  enemy  were  battering  down  the  old  crumbly  bit  of 
wall  where  the  monastery  was  burned;  and  just  then  our 
man  Joseph  ran  back  all  pale,  and  staring,  to  tell  us  my 
father  was  lying  badly  hurt  in  the  street.  My  mother  hur- 
ried out,  and  locked  the  door  to  keep  us  from  following." 

The  poor  child  broke  down  in  tears,  and  her  sister  went 
on.  "  Oh,  we  were  so  frightened — such  frightful  sounds 
came  close,  and  people  ran  by  all  blood  and  shrieking — and 
there  was  a  glare  in  the  sky — and  nolDody  came  home — till 
at  last  it  grew  so  dreadful  that  we  hid  in  the  cellar  to  hear 
and  see  nothing.  Only  it  grew  hotter  and  hotter,  and  the 
light  through  the  little  grating  was  red.  And  at  last  there 
was  a  noise  louder  than  thunder,  and,  oh,  such  a  shaking — 
for  it  was  the  house  falling  down.  But  we  did  not  know 
that;  we  tried  to  open  the  door,  and  could  not;  then  we 
cried  and  called  for  father  and  mother — and  no  one  heard 
^and  we  sat  still  for  fear,  till  we  slept — and  then  it  was 


60  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

all  dark,  and  we  were  very  hungry.  I  don*t  know  how 
time  went,  but  at  last,  when  it  was  daylight  again,  there 
was  a  talking  above,  a  little  baby  cr3'ing,  and  a  kind  voiee 
too;  and  then  we  called  out,  '  Oh  take  us  out  and  give  us 
bread/  Then  a  face  looked  down  the  grating.  Oh!  it  was 
like  the  face  of  an  angel  to  us,  with  all  the  white  hair  fly- 
ing round.  It  was  the  holy  priest  of  Nissard;  and  when 
one  of  the  cruel  men  said  we  were  only  little  heretics  who 
ought  to  die  like  rats  in  a  hole,  he  said  we  were  but  inno- 
cents who  did  not  know  the  diii'erence. " 

"  Ah!  we  did,'^  said  the  elder  girl.  "  You  arc  younger, 
sister,  you  forget  more;'^  and  then,  holding  out  her  hands 
to  Berenger,  she  exclaimed,  ''  Ah!  sir,  take  us  away  with 
you. " 

"  My  cliild!"  exclaimed  the  prioress,  "  you  told  me  you 
were  hajipy  to  be  in  the  good  course.'^ 

"  Oh  yes!"  cried  the  poor  child;  "but  I  don't  want  to 
be  hajipy!  I  am  forgetting  all  my  poor  father  and  mother 
used  to  say.  I  can't  helj)  it,  and  they  would  be  so  grieved. 
Oh,  take  me  away,  sir!" 

"Take  care,  Agathe,  you  will  be  a  relajjsed  heretic,'' 
said  her  sister  solemnly.  "  For  me,  I  am  a  true  Catholic. 
I  love  the  beautiful  images  and  the  processions." 

"Ah!  but  what  would  our  mothers  have  said!"  cried 
poor  Agathe,  weeping  more  bitterly. 

"  Poor  child,  her  old  recollections  have  been  renewed," 
said  the  prioress,  with  michanged  sweetness;  "but  it  will 
pass.  My  dear,  the  gentleman  will  tell  you  that  it  is  as 
impossible  for  him  to  take  you  as  it  is  for  me  to  let  you 
go." 

"  It  is  so,  truly,  little  one,"  said  Berenger.  "  The  only 
little  girl  I  could  have  taken  with  me  would  have  been  my 
own;"  and  as  her  eyes  looked  at  him  wistfully,  he  added, 
"  No  doubt,  if  your  jioor  mother  could,  she  would  thank 
this  good  mother-prioress  for  teaching  you  to  serve  God  and 
be  a  good  child." 

"  Monsieur  speaks  well  and  kindly,"  said  the  jorioress; 
"  and  now,  Agathe,  make  your  courtesy,  and  take  away 
the  little  ones. " 

"  Let  me  ask  one  question  more,  reverend  mother,"  said 
Berenger.  "  Ah!  children,  did  you  ever  see  her  whom  you 
call  Isaac  Garden's  daughter-in-law?" 

*•  No,  sir,"  said  the  children;  "  but  mother  did,  and  she 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    I'EARLS.  61 

promised  one  day  to  take  us  to  sec  the  baby,  for  it  was  so 
pretty — so  white,  that  she  had  never  seen  the  hke/' 

"  So  white!"  re2)eated  Eercnger  to  himself;  and  the 
prioress,  struck,  perhaps,  by  tlic  almost  flaxen  locks  that 
sparsely  waved  on  his  temples,  and  the  hue  of  the  ungloved 
hand  that  rested  on  the  edge  of  the  (jrille,  said,  smiling, 
"  You  come  of  a  fair  family,  monsieur/* 

"  The  White  Eibaumonts,''  said  Berenger,  "  and,  more- 
over, my  mother  Avas  called  the  Swan  of  England ;  my  lit- 
tle sisters  have  skins  like  snow.  Ah!  madame,  though  I 
have  failed,  I  go  away  far  happier  than  if  I  had  succeeded.  ■" 

"  And  I,"  she  said,  "  shall  cease  to  pray  for  that  dear 
one  as  for  one  in  the  grave. " 

"  Ah!  you  have  prayed  for  me.  Pray  still  that  Heaven 
will  have  pity  on  us,  and  unite  us  once  more.''* 

"  And  reveal  the  true  faith,"  began  the  nun;  but  Philip 
in  the  meantime  was  nudging  his  brother,  and  whispering 
in  English,  "  No  Popish  prayers,  I  say!  Stay,  give  these 
poor  little  prisoners  one  feast  of  the  sweetmeats  we  brought. " 

Of  this  last  hint  Berenger  was  glad,  and  the  prioress  read- 
ily consented  to  a  distribution  of  the  dainties  among  the  or- 
phans, lie  wished  to  leave  a  more  lasting  token  of  his  grati- 
tude to  the  little  maiden  whose  father  had  2ierhaps  saved  Eus- 
tacie's  life,  and  recollecting  that  he  had  about  him  a  great 
gold  coin,  bearing  the  heads  of  Philip  and  Mary,  he  begged 
leave  to  offer  it  to  Agathe,  and  found  that  it  was  received  by 
good  Mere  Monique  almost  in  the  light  of  a  relic,  as  bear- 
ing the  head  of  so  pious  a  queen. 

Then,  to  com2)letc  Philip's  disgust,  he  said,  "  I  took  with 
me  my  aunt's  blessing  when  I  set  out;  let  me  take  yours 
with  me  also,  reverend  mother." 

When  they  were  in  the  street  again,  Philij)  railed  at  him 
as  though  he  had  subjected  himself  to  a  spell. 

"  She  is  almost  a  saint,"  answered  Berenger. 

''  And  have  we  not  saints  enough  of  our  own,  without 
running  after  Popish  ones  behind  grates?  Brother,  if  ever 
the  good  old  da3'scoiiie  back  of  invading  France,  I'll  march 
straight  hither,  and  deliver  the  poor  little  wretches  so  scan- 
dalously mewed  up  here,  and  true  Protestants  all  the  time!" 

"  Hush!  Peoiole  are  noticing  the  sound  of  your  En- 
glish." 

"Let  them!  I  never  thanked  Heaven  projoerly  before 
that  I  have  not  a  drop  of  French — "    Here  Berenger 


62  THE  CHAPLIT  OF  PEARLS. 

almost  shook  him  by  the  shoulder,  as  men  turned  at  his 
broad  tones  and  foreign  words,  and  he  walked  on  in  silence, 
while  Berenger  at  his  side  felt  as  one  trcadino-  on  air,  so  in- 
finite was  the  burden  taken  off  his  mind.  Iliough  for  the 
present  absolutely  at  sea  as  to  where  to  seek  Eustaeie,  Ihe 
relief  from  acquiescence  in  the  horrible  fate  that  had  teamed 
to  be  hers  was  such,  that  a  flood  of  unspeakable  hap^iiness 
seemed  to  rush  in  on  him,  and  bear  him  up  with  a  new  in- 
Eusiou  of  life,  buoyancy,  and  thankfulness. 


|,  CHAPTER  XXIX. 

I  N    T  H  E     K  I  N  G  '  S     N  A  M  E  . 

Under  which  king,  Bezoniau?  speak  or  die. 
Under  King  Harry. 

Ki7iff  He  my  IV. 

One  bird  in  the  hand  is  not  always  worth  two  in  the 
bush,  assuredly,"  said  Philip,  when  Berenger  was  calm 
^enough  to  hold  council  on  what  he  called  this  most  blessed 
discovery;  "  but  where  to  seek  them?" 

"  I  have  no  fears  now,"  returned  Berenger.  "  We  have 
not  been  borne  through  so  much  not  to  be  brought  together 
at  last.  Soon,  soon  shall  we  have  her!  A  minister  so  dis- 
tinguished as  Isaac  Garden  is  sure  to  be  heard  of  either  at 
La  Kochelle,  Montauban,  or  Nimes,  their  great  gathering 
places. ' ' 

"  For  Kochelle,  tlien?^^  said  Philip. 

"  Even  so.  We  will  be  off  early  to-morrow,  and  from 
thence,  if  we  do  not  find  her  there,  as  I  expect,  we  shall  be 
able  to  write  the  thrice  happy  news  to  tliose  at  home. " 

Accordingly,  the  little  cavalcade  started  in  good  time,  in 
the  cool  of  the  morning  of  the  bright  long  day  of  early 
June,  while  apple  petals  floated  down  on  them  in  the  lanes 
like  snow,  and  nightingales  in  every  hedge  seemed  to  give 
voice  and  tune  to  Berenger's  eager,  yearning  hopes. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sound  of  horses'  feet  ni  the  road 
before  them,  and  as  they  drew  aside  to  make  way,  a  little 
troop  of  gendarmes  filled  the  narrow  lane.  The  officer,  a 
rough,  harsh-looking  man,  laid  his  hand  on  Berenger's 
bridle,  with  the  words,  "  In  the  name  of  the  king!" 

Philip  began  to  draw  his  sword  with  one  hand,  and  with 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  63 

the  other  to  urge  his  horse  between  theofl'cerand  his  broth- 
er, but  Eerenger  called  out,  "  Back!  This  gentleman  mis- 
takes my  person.  I  am  the  Baron  de  Ilibaumont,  and 
have  a  safe-conduct  from  the  king.^' 

"  What  king?"  demanded  the  officer. 

"  From  King  Charles. " 

*'  I  arrest  you,"  said  the  officer,  "  in  the  name  of  King 
Henry  111.  and  of  tlie  Queen  Eegent  Catherine." 

"  The  king  dead?"  exclaimed  Berenger. 

"  On  the  30th  of  May.     Now,  sir. " 

"  Your  warrant — your  cause?"  still  demanded  Berenger. 

"  'inhere  will  he  time  enough  for  that  when  you  are  safely 
lodged,"  said  the  captain,  roughly  pulling  at  the  rein, 
which  he  had  held  all  the  time. 

"  What,  no  warrant?"  shouted  Philip,  "  he  is  a  mere 
robber!"  and  with  drawn  sword  he  was  precipitating  him- 
self on  the  capain,  when  another  gendarme,  who  had  been 
on  the  watch,  grappled  with  him,  and  dragged  him  off  his 
horse  before  he  could  strike  a  blow.  The  other  two  En- 
glish, Humfrey  Holt  and  John  Smithers,  strong,  full- 
grown  men,  rode  in  fiercely  to  the  rescue,  and  Berenger 
himself  struggled  furiously  to  loose  himself  from  the  caji- 
tain,  and  deliver  his  brother.  8uddenly  there  was  the  re- 
port of  a  pistol:  poor  Smithers  fell,  there  was  a  moment  of 
standing  aghast,  and  in  that  moment  the  one  man  and  the 
two  youths  were  each  pounced  on  by  three  or  four  gen- 
darmes, thrown  down  and  pinioned. 

"  Is  this  usage  for  gentlemen?"  exclaimed  Berenger,  as 
he  was  roughly  raised  to  his  feet. 

'' The  king's  power  has  been  resisted,"  was  all  the  an- 
swer; and  when  he  would  have  bent  to  see  how  it  was  with 
poor  Smithers  one  of  the  men-at-arms  kicked  over  the  body 
with  sickening  brutality,  saying,  "  Dead  enough,  heretic 
and  English  carrion!" 

Philip  uttered  a  cry  of  loathing  horror,  and  turned  white; 
Berenger,  above  all  else,  felt  a  sort  of  frenzied  despair  as 
he  thought  of  the  peril  of  the  boy  who  had  been  trusted  to 
him, 

"  Have  you  had  enough,  sir?"  said  the  captain.  "  Mount 
and  come. " 

They  could  only  let  themselves  be  lifted  to  their  horses, 
and  their  bands  were  then  set  free  to  use  their  brulles,  each 
being  guarded  by  a  soldier  on  each  side  of  him.     Philip  at- 


C4  THE    CHAP  LET    OF    PEARLS. 

tempted  but  once  to  speak,  and  that  in  English,  *'  Next 
time  I  shall  take  my  pistol/' 

He  was  riulely  silenced,  and  rode  on  with  wide-open  stolid 
eyes  and  dogged  face,  steadfastly  resolved  that  no  French- 
man should  see  him  flinch,  and  vexed  that  Berenger  had 
liis  riding-mask  on  so  that  his  face  could  not  be  studied; 
while  he,  on  his  side,  was  revolving  all  causes  possible  for 
his  arrest,  and  all  means  of  enforcing  the  liberation,  if  not 
of  himself,  at  least  of  Philip  and  Humfrey.  He  looked 
round  for  Guibert,  but  could  not  see  him. 

They  rode  on  through  the  intricate  lanes  till  the  sun  was 
high  and  scorching,  and  Berenger  felt  how  far  he  was  from 
jierfect  recovery.  At  last,  however,  some  little  time  past 
noon,  the  gendarmes  halted  at  a  stone  fountain,  outside  a 
village,  and  disposing  a  sufficient  guard  around  his  cap- 
tives, the  officer  permitted  them  to  dismount  and  rest,  while 
he,  with  the  rest  of  the  trooj)  and  the  horses,  wont  to  the 
village  cabaret.  Philip  would  have  asked  his  brotlier  what 
it  meant,  and  what  v/as  to  be  done,  but  Berenger  shook  his 
liead,  and  intimated  that  silence  was  safest  at  present,  since 
they  might  be  listened  to;  and  Phih'ji,  who  so  much  imag- 
ined treachery  and  iniquity  to  be  the  order  of  the  day  in 
France  that  he  was  scarcely  surprised  at  the  present  disas- 
ter, resigned  himself  to  the  same  sullen  endurance.  Pro- 
visions and  liquor  were  presently  sent  up  from  the  inn,  but 
J>erenger  coukl  taste  nothing  but  the  cold  water  of  the 
fountain,  which  trickled  out  cool  and  fresh  beneath  an  arch 
surmounted  by  a  figure  of  Our  Lady.  He  bathed  his  face 
and  head  in  the  refreshing  spring,  and  lay  down  on  a  cloak 
in  the  shade,  Philip  keej)ing  a  constant  change  of  drenched 
kerchiefs  on  bis  brow,  and  lioping  that  he  slept,  till  at  the 
end  of  two  or  three  hours  the  captain  returned,  gave  the 
word  to  horse,  and  the  party  rode  on  through  intricate 
lanes,  blossoming  with  hawthorn,  and  ringing  with  songs 
of  birds  that  spoke  a  very  different  language  now  to  Be- 
renger's  heart  from  what  they  had  said  in  the  hopeful 
morning. 

A  convent  bell  was  ringing  to  even-song,  when  passing 
its  gate -way;  the  escort  turned  up  a  low  hill,  on  the  summit 
of  which  stood  a  chateau  covering  a  considerable  extent  of 
ground,  with  a  circuit  yi  wall,  whitewashed  so  as  perfectly 
to  glare  in  the  evening  sun;  at  every  angle  a  round,  slim 
turret,  crowned  by  a  brilliant    red-tiled  extinguisher-like 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  65 

cap;  and  the  whole  surmounted  by  a  tall,  old  keep  in  the 
center.  There  was  a  square  projection  containing  an 
arched  gate-way,  with  heavy  door- ways,  which  were  thrown 
open  as  the  party  a2:)proached.  Philip  looked  up  as  he  rode 
in,  and  over  the  door-way  beheld  the  familiar  fretted  shield, 
with  the  leopard  in  the  corner,  and  "  A  moi  lUbaumont  " 
round  it.  Could  it  then  be  Berenger's  own  castle,  and  was 
it  thus  that  he  was  approaching  it?  lie  himself  had  not 
looked  u^j;  he  was  utterly  spent  with  fatigue,  dejection, 
and  the  severe  headache  brought  on  by  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
and  was  only  intent  on  rallying  his  powers  for  the  crisis  of 
fate  that  was  probably  approaching;  and  thus  scarcely  took 
note  of  the  court  into  which  he  rode,  lying  between  the 
gate-way  and  the  corps  de  logis,  a  bu'lding  erected  when 
comfort  demanded  more  sj)ace  than  was  afforded  by  the  old 
keep,  against  which  one  end  leaned;  but  still,  though  in- 
closed in  a  court,  the  lower  windows  were  small  and  iron- 
barred,  and  all  air  of  luxury  was  reserved  for  the  mullioned 
casements  of  the  upper  story.  The  court  was  flagged,  but 
grass  shot  uj)  between  the  stones,  and  the  trim  air  of  ease 
and  inhabited  comfort  to  which  the  brothers  were  used  at 
home  was  utterly  wanting.  Berenger  was  hustled  olf  his 
horse,  and  roughly  pushed  through  a  deep  porch,  where  the 
first  thing  he  heard  was  the  Chevalier  de  liibaumont's  voice 
in  displeasure. 

"  How  now,  sir;  hands  off!  Is  this  the  way  you  conduct 
my  nephew?" 

"  He  resisted,  sir." 

"  Sir,"  said  Berenger,  advancing  into  the  hall,  "  I  know 
not  the  meaning  of  this.  I  am  peacefully  traveling  with  a 
passport  from  the  king,  when  I  am  set  upon,  no  warrant 
shown  me,  my  faithful  servant  slain,  myself  and  mybrotli- 
er,  an  English  subject,  shamefully  handled.'^ 

"  The  violence  shull  be  visited  on  whatever  rascal  dm-st 
insult  a  gentleman  and  my  nejjhew,"  said  the  chevalier. 
"  For  release,  it  shall  be  looked  to;  but  unfortunately  it  is 
too  true  that  there  are  orders  from  the  queen  in  council  for 
your  apprehension,  and  it  was  only  on  my  special  entreaty 
for  the  honor  of  the  family,  and  the  afTection  I  bear  you, 
that  I  was  allowed  to  receive  you  here  instead  of  your  being 
sent  to  an  ordinary  prison. " 

"  On  what  pretext?"  demanded  Berenger. 

"It  is  knov/n  that  you  have  letters  in  your  possession 

3-2cl  half. 


G6  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

from  escaj)ecl  traitors  now  in  England,  to  La  None,  Du- 
plessis  Mornay,  and  other  heretics. " 

"  That  is  easily  explained/'  said  Berenger.  "  You  know 
well,  sir,  that  they  were  to  facilitate  my  search  at  La  Sa- 
ble rie.     You  shall  see  them  yourself,  sir.'' 

"  That  I  must  assuredly  do,"  replied  the  chevalier,  "  for 
it  is  the  order  of  her  majesty,  I  regret  to  say,  that  your  per- 
son and  baggage  be  searched;"  then,  as  indignant  color 
rushed  into  I3erenger's  face,  and  an  angry  exclannition  was 
beginning,  he  added,  "  Nay,  I  understand,  my  dear  cousin, 
it  is  very  painful,  but  we  would  spare  you  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. It  will  be  quite  enough  if  the  search  is  made  by 
myself  in  the  presence  of  tliis  gentleman,  who  will  only 
stand  by  for  form's  sake.  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  enable 
us  quickly  to  clear  up  matters,  and  set  you  free  again.  Do 
me  the  honor  to  follow  me  to  the  chamber  destined  for 
you. " 

"Let  me  see  the  order  for  my  arrest,"  said  Berenger, 
holding  his  head  high. 

"  The  English  scruple  must  be  gratified,"  said  the  chev- 
alier. And  accordingly  the  gendarme  captain  unfolded  be- 
fore him  a  paper,  which  was  evidently  a  distinct  order  to 
arrest  and  examine  the  person  of  Henri  Berenger  Eustache, 
Baron  de  Eibaumont  and  Sieur  de  Leurre,  suspected  of 
treasonable  practices — and  it  bore  the  signature  of  Cathe- 
rine. 

"  There  is  nothing  here  said  of  my  step-father's  son, 
Philip  Thistlewood,  nor  of  my  servant,  Humfrey  Holt," 
said  Berenger,  gathering  the  sense  with  his  dizzy  eyes  as 
best  he  coukl.  "They  can  not  be  detained,  being  born 
subjects  of  the  Queen  of  England. " 

"  They  intercepted  the  justice  of  the  king,"  said  the 
captain,  laying  his  hand  on  Philip's  sboulder.  "  I  shall 
have  them  off  with  me  to  the  garrison  of  Lucon,  and  deal 
with  them  there." 

"Wait!"  said  the  chevalier,  interposing  before  Beren- 
ger's  fierce,  horror-struck  expostulation  could  break  forth; 
"  this  is  an  honorable  young  gentleman,  son  of  a  chevalier 
of  good  rej)utation  in  England,  and  he  need  not  be  so 
harsldy  dealt  with.  You  will  not  separate  either  him  or 
the  poor  groom  from  my  nephew,  so  the  queen's  authority 
be  now  rightly  acknowledged." 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  displeased ;  and 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  67 

the  chevalier,  turning  to  Berengcr,  said,  "  You  understand, 
nephew,  the  lot  of  you  all  depends  on  your  not  giving  um- 
brage to  these  officers  of  her  majesty.  I  will  do  my  poor 
best  for  you;  but  submission  is  first  needed." 

Bcrcnger  knew  enough  of  his  native  country  to  be  aware 
that  la  justice  clu  Roi  was  a  terrible  thing,  and  that  Philip's 
resistance  had  really  put  him  in  so  much  danger  that  it 
was  needful  to  be  most  careful  not  further  to  offend  the 
functionary  of  Government;  and  abhorrent  as  the  proposed 
search  was  to  him,  he  made  no  further  objection,  but  tak- 
ing Philij/s  arm,  lest  they  should  be  separated,  he  prepared 
to  follow  wherever  he  was  to  be  conducted.  The  chevalier 
led  the  way  along  a  narrow  stone  jiassage,  with  loo})holed 
windows  here  and  there;  and  Philip,  for  all  his  proud,  in- 
difTerent  bearing,  felt  his  flesh  creep  as  he  looked  for  a  stair 
descending  into  tlie  bowels  of  the  earth.  A  stair  there  was, 
but  it  went  up  instead  of  down,  and  after  mounthig  this, 
and  going  through  a  sort  of  ante-room,  a  door  was  opened 
into  a  tolerably  spacious  apartment,  evidently  in  the  old 
keep;  for  the  two  windows  on  opposite  sides  were  in  an 
immensely  massive  wall,  and  the  floor  above  and  vaulting 
below  were  of  stone;  but  otherwise  there  was  nothing  re- 
pulsive in  the  appearance  of  the  room.  There  was  a  wood 
fire  on  the  hearth;  the  sun,  setting  far  to  the  north,  peeped 
in  aslant  at  one  window;  a  mat  was  on  the  floor,  tapestry 
on  the  lower  part  of  the  walls;  a  table  and  chairs,  and  a 
walnut  chest,  with  a  chess-board  and  a  few  books  on  it, 
were  as  much  furniture  as  was  to  be  seen  in  almost  any  liv- 
ing-room of  the  day.  liumfrey  and  Guibert,  too,  were  al- 
ready there,  with  the  small  riding  valises  they  and  poor 
Smithers  had  had  in  charge.  These  were  at  once  opened, 
but  contained  merely  clothes  and  linen,  nothing  else  that 
was  noticed,  except  three  books,  at  which  the  captain  looked 
with  a  stupid  air;  and  the  chevalier  did  not  seem  capable 
of  discovering  more  than  that  all  three  were  J^atin — one, 
he  believed,  the  Bible. 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  Vulgate — a  coi)y  older  than  the  Eeforma- 
tion,  so  not  liable  to  be  called  an  heretical  version,"  said 
Bei'enger,  to  whom  a  cojiy  had  been  given  by  Lady  Wal- 
wyn,  as  more  likely  to  be  saved  if  his  baggage  was  searched. 
"  The  other  is  the  Office  and  Psalter  after  our  English  rite; 
and  this  last  is  not  mine,  but  Mr.  Sidney's — a  copy  of  Vir- 
gilius  Maro,  wliich  he  had  left  behind  at  Paris. " 


68  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

The  chevalier,  not  willing  to  confess  that  he  had  taken 
the  English  Prayer-book  for  Latin,  hastily  said,  "  Nothing 
wrong  there — no,  no,  nothing  that  will  hurt  the  State; 
may  it  only  be  so  with  what  yon  carry  on  your  person,  fair 
cousin.  Stand  back,  gentlemen,  this  is  gear  for  myself 
alone.  Now,  fair  nephew,"  he  added,  "  not  a  hand  shall 
be  laid  on  you,  if  you  will  g:vo  me  your  honorable  word,  as 
a  nobleman,  that  you  are  laying  before  me  all  that  you 
carry  about  you." 

An  instant's  thought  convinced  iJerenger  that  resistance 
would  save  nothing,  and  merely  lead  to  indignity  to  himself 
and  danger  to  Philip;  and  therefore  he  gave  the  promise  to 
show  everything  about  him,  without  compulsion.  Accord- 
ingly, he  produced  his  purse  for  current  expenses,  jioor 
King  Charles's  safe-conduct,  and  other  articles  of  no  con- 
sequence, from  his  pockets;  tlien  reluctantly  opened  his 
doublet,  and  took  off  the  belt  containing  his  store  of  gold, 
which  had  been  re])lenished  at  Walsingham's.  This  was 
greedily  eyed  by  the  ca|)tain,  but  the  chevalier  at  once  made 
it  over  to  Philip's  keeping,  graciously  saying,  "  We  do  no 
more  than  duty  requires;"  but  at  the  same  time  he  made  a 
gesture  toward  another  small  purse  that  hung  round  Beren- 
ger's  neck  by  a  black  ribbon. 

"On  my  sacred  word  and  honor,"  said  Berenger,  "  it 
contains  nothing  important  to  any  save  myself. " 

"  Alas!  my  bounden  duty,"  urged  the  chevalier. 

An  angry  reply  died  on  Berenger's  lip.  At  the  thought 
of  Philip,  he  opened  the  purse,  and  held  out  the  contents 
on  his  jjalm;  a  tiny  gold  ring,  a  tress  of  black  hair,  a  frag- 
ment of  carnation-ribbon  pricked  with  pin-holes,  a  string  of 
small  worthless  yellow  shells,  and,  threaded  with  them,  a 
large  pear-shaped  pearl  of  countless  price.  Even  the  chev- 
alier was  touched  at  the  sight  of  this  treasury,  resting  on 
the  blanched  jjalm  of  the  thin,  trembling  hand,  and  jeal- 
ously watched  by  eyes  glistening  with  sudden  moisture, 
though  the  lips  were  firm  set.  "  Alas!  my  poor  young 
cousin,"  he  said,  "  you  loved  her  well.'^ 

"  Not  loved,  but  love,"  muttered  Berenger  to  himself, 
as  if  having  recourse  to  the  only  cordial  that  could  sujiport 
him  through  the  present  suffering;  and  he  was  closing  his 
lingers  again  over  his  precious  hoard,  when  the  chevalier 
added,  "Stay!  nephew — that  pearl!" 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  69 

"  Is  one  of  the  cliaplet;  the  token  she  sent  to  England,'^ 
he  answered. 

"  Fan  ere  petite  !  Then,  at  least  a  fragment  remains  of 
the  reward  of  our  ancestor's  courage/'  said  the  chevalier. 

And  Berenger  did  not  feel  it  needful  to  yield  up  that  still 
betler  possession,  stored  within  his  heart,  that  la  petite  and 
her  pearls  were  safe  together.  It  was  less  unendurable  to 
produce  the  leather  case  from  a  secret  pocket  withiu  his 
doublet,  since,  unwilling  as  he  was  that  any  eye  should 
scan  the  letters  it  contained,  there  was  nothing  in  them 
that  could  give  any  clew  toward  tracing  her.  Nothing  had 
been  written  or  received  since  his  interview  with  the  chil- 
dren at  Lucon.  There  was,  indeed,  Eustacie's  letter  to  his 
mother,  a  few  received  at  Paris  from  Lord  Walwyn,  reluct- 
antly consenting  to  his  journey  in  quest  of  his  child,  his 
English  passport,  the  unfortunate  letters  to  La  None;  and 
what  evidently  startled  the  chevalier  more  than  all  the  rest, 
the  copy  of  the  certificate  of  the  ratification  of  the  mar- 
riage; but  his  consternation  was  so  arranged  as  to  appear 
to  be  all  on  behalf  of  his  young  kinsman.  "  This  is  ser- 
ious!" he  said,  striking  his  forehead,  "  you  will  be  accused 
of  forging  the  late  king's  name." 

"  This  is  but  a  copy,"  said  Berenger,  pointing  to  the 
heading;  "the  original  has  been  sent  with  our  embassa- 
dor's dispatches  to  England." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  the  chevalier,  looking  thoroughly 
vexed,  "  that  you  should  have  brought  fresh  difficulties  on 
yourself  for  a  mere  piece  of  waste  paper,  since,  as  things 
unhappily  stand,  there  is  no  living  person  to  be  affected  by 
the  validity  of  your  marriage.  Dear  cousin  " — he  gianced 
at  the  officer  and  lowered  his  voice — "  let  me  tear  this  pa- 
per; it  would  only  do  you  harm,  and  the  Pa^jal  desree  an- 
nuls it." 

"  I  have  given  my  word,"  said  Berenger,  "  that  all  that 
could  do  me  harm  should  be  delivered  uj^!  Besides,"  he 
added,  "  even  had  I  the  feeling  for  my  own  honor  and  that 
of  my  wife  and  child,  living  or  dead,  the  harm,  it  seems  to 
me,  would  be  to  those  who  withhold  her  lands  from  me. " 
"  Ah,  fair  nephew!  you  have  fallen  among  designing 
persons  who  have  filled  your  head  with  absurd  claims;  but 
1  will  not  argue  the  point  now,  since  it  becomes  a  family, 
not  a  State  matter.  These  papers  " — and  he  took  them 
into  his  hand — "  must  be  examined,  and  to-morrow  Cap- 


70  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS. 

tain  Delarue  will  fake  them  to  Paris,  with  any  explanation 
you  may  desire  to  offer.  Meantime  you  aud  your  compan- 
ions remain  my  guests,  at  full  liberty,  provided  you  will 
give  me  your  parole  to  attempt  no  escape. " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Berenger,  hotly,  ''  we  will  not  become 
oar  own  jailers,  nor  acquiesce  in  this  unjust  detention.  I 
warn  you  that  I  am  a  naturalized  Englishman,  aciiuowl- 
edged  by  the  queen  as  my  grandfather's  heir,  aud  the  En- 
glish embassador  will  inform  the  court  what  Queen  Eliza- 
beth tlnnks  of  such  dealings  with  her  subjects." 

"  Well  saiil,"  exclaimed  Philip,  and  drawing  himself  up, 
he  added,  "  I  refuse  my  parole,  and  warn  you  that  it  is  at 
your  peril  that  you  imjorison  an  Englishman." 

"  Very  well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  chevalier;  "  the  differ- 
ence will  be  tluit  I  shall  unwillingly  be  forced  to  let  Captain 
Delarue  ^jost  guards  at  the  outlets  of  this  tower.  A  room 
beneath  is  prepared  for  your  grooms,  and  the  court  is  like- 
wise free  to  yon.  I  will  endeavor  to  nuike  your  detention 
as  little  irksome  as  you  will  permit,  and  meantime  allow 
me  to  show  you  your  sleeping-chamber. "  He  then  politely, 
as  if  he  had  been  ushering  a  prince  to  his  apartment,  led 
the  way,  pointing  to  the  door  through  which  they  had  en' 
tered  the  keep,  and  saying,  "  This  is  the  only  present  com- 
munication with  the  dwelling-house.  Two  gendarmes  will 
always  be  on  tbe  outside."  He  conducted  the  young  men 
up  a  stone  spiral  stair  to  another  room,  over  that  which 
they  had  already  seen,  and  furnished  as  fairly  as  ordinary 
sleeping-chambers  were  wont  to  be. 

Here,  said  their  compulsory  host,  he  would  leave  them 
to  prepare  for  supper,  when  they  would  do  him  the  honor 
to  join  him  in  the  eating-hall  on  their  summons  by  the 
steward. 

His  departing  bow  was  duly  returned  by  Berenger,  but 
no  sooner  did  his  steps  die  away  on  the  stairs  than  the  young 
man  threw  himself  down  on  his  bed,  in  a  paroxysm  of  suf- , 
fering,  both  mental  and  bodily. 

"  Berry,  Berry,  what  is  this?  Speak  to  me.  What  does 
it  all  mean?"  cried  Philip. 

"  How  can  I  tell?"  said  Berenger,  showing  his  face  for 
a  moment,  covered  with  tears;  "  only  that  my  only  friend 
is  dead,  and  some  villainous  trick  has  seized  me,  just — just 
as  I  nnght  have  found  her.  And  I've  been  the  death  of  my 
poor  groom,  and  got  you  into  the  power  of  these  vile  das- 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEARLS.  71 

tards!      Oh,  would  that  I  had  come  alone!     Would  that 
they  had  had  the  sense  to  aim  direct!" 

"  Brother,  brother,  an3'thing  but  this!"  cried  Pliilip. 
"  The  rogues  are  not  worth  it.  Sir  Francis  will  have  us 
out  in  no  time,  or  know  the  reason  why.  I'd  scorn  to  let 
them  wring  a  tear  from  me." 

"  I  hope  they  never  may,  dear  Phil,  nor  anything  worse. " 

*'  Now,^^  continued  Philip,  "  the  way  will  be  to  go  down 
to  supper,  since  they  will  have  it  so,  and  sit  and  eat  at 
one's  ease  as  if  one  cared  for  them  no  more  than  cat  and 
dog.  Hark!  there's  the  steward  speaking  to  Guibert. 
Come,  Berry,  wash  your  face  and  come.  " 

"  I — my  head  aches  far  too  much,  were  there  nothing 
else.  -" 

"  What!  it  is  nothing  but  the  sun,"  said  Philip.  "  Put 
a  bold  face  on  it,  man,  and  show  them  how  little  you  heed." 

"  How  little  I  heed!"  bitterly  repeated  Berenger,  turn- 
ing his  face  away,  utterly  unnerved  between  disappoint- 
ment, fatigue,  and  jmin;  and  Philip  at  that  moment  had 
little  mercy.  Dismayed  and  vaguely  terrified,  yet  too  res- 
olute in  national  j^i'ide  to  betray  his  own  feelings,  he  gave 
vent  to  his  vexation  by  impatience  with  a  temperament 
more  visibly  sensitive  than  his  own:  "  I  never  thought  you 
so  mere  a  Frenchman,"  he  said  contemptuously.  "  If  you 
weep  and  wail  so  like  a  sick  wench,  they  will  soon  have  their 
will  of  you!  I'd  have  let  them  kill  me  before  they  searched 
me." 

"  'Tis  bad  enough  without  this  from  you,  Phil,"  said 
Berenger  faintly,  for  he  was  far  too  much  spent  for  resent- 
ment or  self-defense,  and  had  only  kept  up  before  the 
chevalier  by  dint  of  strong  effort.  Philip  was  somewhat 
aghast,  both  at  the  involuntary  gesture  of  pain,  and  at  find- 
ing there  was  not  even  spirit  to  be  angry  with  him;  but  his 
very  dismay  served  at  the  moment  only  to  feed  his  displeas- 
ure; and  he  tramped  off  in  his  heavy  boots,  which  he  chose 
to  wear  as  a  proof  of  disdain  for  his  companions.  He  ex- 
plained that  M.  de  Ribaumont  was  too  much  fatigued  to 
come  to  supper,  and  he  was  accordingly  marched  along  the 
corridor,  with  the  steward  before  him  bearing  a  lighted 
torch,  and  two  gendarmes  with  halberds  behind  him.  And 
in  his  walk  he  had  amj^le  time  for,  first,  the  resolution  that 
illness,  and  not  dejection,  should  have  all  the  credit  of  Be- 
renger's  absence;  then  for  recollecting  of  how  short  stand- 


72  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS. 

ing  had  been  his  brother's  convalescence;  and  lastly,  for  a 
fury  of  self-execration  for  his  own  unkindness,  rude  taunts, 
and  neglect  of  the  recurring  illness.  He  would  have  turned 
about  and  gone  back  at  once,  but  the  two  gendarmes  were 
close  behind,  and  he  knew  Humfrey  would  attend  to  his 
brother;  so  ho  walked  on  to  the  hall — a  handsome  cham- 
ber, hung  with  armor  and  spoils  of  hunting,  with  a  few 
pictures  on  the  panels,  and  a  great  carved  music-gallery  at 
one  end.  The  table  was  laid  out  somewhat  luxuriously  for 
four,  according  to  the  innovation  which  was  beginning  to 
separate  the  meals  of  the  grandees  from  those  of  their 
household. 

Great  concern  was  expressed  by  the  chevalier,  as  Philip, 
in  French,  much  improved  since  the  time  of  his  conversa- 
tion with  Mme.  de  Selinville,  spoke  of  his  brother's  indis- 
position, saying  with  emjihasis,  as  he  glared  at  Cajjtain 
Delarue,  that  Maitre  Pare  had  forbidden  all  exposure  to 
midday  heat,  and  that  all  their  journeys  had  been  made 
in  morning  or  evening  coolness.  "  My  you)ig  friend,"  as 
his  host  called  him,  "  should,  he  was  assur  d,  have  men- 
tioned this,  since  Captain  Delarue  had  no  desn-e  but  to 
make  his  situation  as  little  painful  as  possible.^'  And  the 
chevalier  sent  his  steward  at  once  to  offer  everything  tlie 
house  contained  that  his  prisoner  could  relish  for  supjier, 
and  then  anxiously  questioned  Philip  on  his  health  and  diet, 
obtaining  very  short  and  glum  answers.  The  chevalier 
and  the  captain  glanced  at  each  other  with  little  shrugs; 
and  Philip,  becoming  conscious  of  his  shock  hair,  splashed 
doublet,  and  dirty  boots,  had  vague  doubts  whether  his 
English  dignity  were  not  being  regarded  as  English  lub- 
berliness;  but,  of  course,  he  hated  the  two  Frenchmen  all 
the  more,  and  received  their  civility  with  greater  gruffness. 
They  asked  him  the  present  object  of  his  journey— though, 
probably,  the  chevalier  knew  it  before,  and  he  told  of  the 
hope  that  they  had  of  finding  the  child  at  Lucon. 

•'  Vain,  of  course?"  said  tlie  chevalier.  "  Poor  infant! 
It  is  well  for  itself,  as  for  the  rest  of  us,  that  its  troubles 
were  ended  long  ago." 

Philip  started  indignantly. 

"  Does  your  brother  still  nurture  any  vain  hojoe?"  said 
the  chevalier. 

"  Not  vain,  I  trust,"  said  Philip. 

"  Indeed!    Who  can  foolishly  have  so  inspired  him  with 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  73 

a  hope  that  merely  wears  cut  his  youth,  and  leads  him  into 
danger?" 

Philip  held  liis  tongue,  resolved  to  be  impenetrable;  and 
he  Avas  so  far  successful,  that  the  chevalier  merely  became 
convinced  that  the  brothers  were  not  simply  riding  to  La 
Kochelle  to  embark  for  England,  but  had  some  hope  and 
purpose  in  view;  though  as  to  what  tbat  might  be,  Philip's 
bluif  replies  and  stubborn  silence  were  baffling. 

After  the  meal,  the  chevalier  insisted  on  coming  to  see 
how  his  guest  fared;  and  Philip  could  not  prevent  him. 
They  found  Berenger  sitting  on  the  side  of  his  bed,  having 
evidently  just  started  up  on  hearing  their  approach.  Other- 
wise he  did  not  seem  to  have  moved  since  Philip  left  him ; 
he  had  not  attemjited  to  undress;  and  Humfreytold  Philip 
that  not  a  word  had  been  extracted  from  him,  but  com- 
mands to  let  him  alone. 

However,  he  had  rallied  his  forces  to  meet  the  chevalier, 
and  answered  manfully  to  his  excuses  for  the  broiling  ride 
to  which  he  had  been  exposed,  that  it  mattered  not,  the 
effect  would  pass,  it  was  a  mere  cliance;  and  refused  all 
otters  of  medicaments,  potions,  and  tisanes,  till  his  host  at 
length  left  the  room  with  a  most  correct  exchange  of  good- 
niglrts. 

*'  Berry,  Berry,  what  a  brute  I  have  been!"  cried  Philip. 

"  Foolish  lad!"  and  Berenger  half  smiled.  "  Now  help 
me  to  bed,  for  the  room  turns  round!" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CAGED   IK   THE   BLACK]5IKD's    NEST. 

Let  him  shun  castles; 
Safer  shall  he  he  on  the  sandy  phiin 
Than  where  castles  mounted  stand. 

King  Henry  VI. 

While  Berenger  slept  a  heavy  morning's  sleep  after  a 
restless  night,  Philip  explored  the  narrow  domain  above 
and  below.  The  keep  and  its  little  court  had  evidently 
been  the  original  castle,  built  when  the  oddly  nicknamed 
Fulkes  and  Geoffreys  of  Anjou  had  been  at  daggers  drawn 
with  the  Dukes  of  Normandy  and  Brittany,  but  it  had  since, 
like  most  other  such  ancient  feudal  fortresses,  become  the 
nucleus  of  walls  and  buildings  for  use,  defense,  or  orua- 


74  THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEARLS. 

nient^  that  lay  beneath  him  like  a  sjiider's  web,  when  he 
had  gained  the  roof  of  the  keep,  garnished  with  pejijicr-box 
turrets  at  each  of  the  four  angles.  Beyond  lay  the  green 
copses  and  orchards  of  the  Bocage,  for  it  was  true,  as  he 
had  at  first  sus2:)ected,  that  this  was  the  Chateau  de  Nid- 
de-Merle,  and  that  Berenger  was  a  captive  in  his  wife's 
own  castle. 

Chances  of  escajie  were  the  lad's  chief  thought,  but  the 
building  on  which  he  stood  went  sheer  down  for  a  consid- 
erable way.  Then  on  the  north  side  there  came  out  the 
sharp,  high-pitched,  tiled  roof  of  the  coiys  dii  logisj  on 
the  south,  another  roof,  surmounted  by  a  cross  at  the  gable, 
and  evidently  belonging  to  the  chapel;  on  the  otlier  two 
sides  lay  courts — that  to  the  east,  a  stable-yard;  that  to  the 
west,  a  small  narrow,  chilly-looking,  jDaved  inclosure,  with 
enormously  massive  walls,  the  door- way  walled  up,  and 
looking  like  a  true  j^rison-yard.  Beyond  this  wall — indeed, 
on  every  side — extended  offices,  servants'  houses,,  stables, 
untidy  desolate-looking  gardens,  and  the  whole  was  in- 
closed by  the  white  wall  with  flanking  red-tiled  turrets, 
whose  gaudy  ajipearance  had  last  night  made  Philip  regard 
the  whole  as  a  flimsy,  Frenchified  erection,  but  he  now  saw 
it  to  be  of  extremely  solid  stone  and  lime,  and  with  no  en- 
trance but  the  great  barbican  gate-way  they  had  entered 
by;  moreover,  with  a  yawning,  dry  moat  all  round.  Whci-- 
ever  he  looked  he  saw  these  tall,  jwinted  red  caps,  resem- 
bling, he  thought,  those  worn  by  the  victims  of  an  auio-da 
fe  as  one  of  Walsingham's  secretaries  had  described  them 
to  him;  and  he  ground  his  teeth  at  them,  as  though  they 
grinned  at  him  like  emissaries  of  the  Inquisition. 

Descending,  he  found  Berenger  dressing  in  haste  to  avoid 
receiving  an  invalid  visit  from  the  chevalier,  looking  in- 
deed greatly  shaken,  but  hardly  so  as  would  have  been  de- 
tected by  eyes  that  had  not  seen  him  during  his  weeks  of 
hope  and  recovery.  He  was  as  resolved  as  Philijj  could 
wish  against  any  sign  of  weakness  before  his  enemy,  and 
altogether  disclaimed  illness,  refusing  the  stock  of  cooling 
drinks,  cordials,  and  febrifuges,  which  the  chevalier  said 
had  been  sent  by  his  sister  the  Abbess  of  Bellaise.  He  j^ut 
the  subject  of  his  health  aside,  only  asking  if  this  were  the 
day  that  the  gendarme-captain  would  return  to  Paris,  and 
then  begging  to  see  that  officer,  so  as  to  have  a  distinct 
understanding  of  the  grounds  of  his  imprisonment.     The 


THE    CIIAPLET    OF    TEAELS.  75 

captain  had,  however,  been  a  mere  instrument;  and  when 
Phih'p  clamored  to  be  taken  before  the  next  justice  of  the 
peace,  even  Berenger  smiled  at  him  for  thinking  that  such 
a  being  existed  in  France.  The  only  cause  alleged  was  the 
vague  but  dangerous  suspicion  of  conveying  correspondence 
bctweeu  England  and  the  heretics,  and  this  might  become 
extremely  perilous  to  one  undeniably  half  English,  regard- 
ed as  wliole  Huguenot,  caught  on  the  way  to  La  Koclielle 
with  a  letter  to  La  None  in  his  pocket;  and,  moreover,  to 
one  who  had  had  a  personal  att'ray  with  a  king  famous  for 
storing  u])  petty  oifenses,  whom  the  last  poor  king  had. 
favored,  and  who,  in  fine,  had  claims  to  estates  that  could 
not  be  spared  to  the  Huguenot  interest. 

He  was  really  not  sure  that  there  was  not  some  truth  in 
the  professions  of  the  chevalier  being  anxious  to  protect 
him  from  the  queen-mother  and  the  Guises;  he  had  never 
been  able  to  divest  himself  of  a  certain  trust  in  his  old  kins- 
man's friendliness,  and  he  was  obliged  to  be  beholden  to 
him  for  the  forms  in  which  to  coLich  his  defense.  At  the 
same  time  he  wrote  to  Sir  Francis  AValsingham,  and  to  his 
grandfather,  but  with  great  caution,  lest  his  letters  should 
be  inspected  by  his  enemies,  and  with  the  less  hope  of  their 
availing  him  because  it  was  probable  that  the  embassador 
tvould  return  home  on  the  king's  death.  No  answer  could 
be  expected  for  at  least  a  fortnight,  and  even  then  it  was 
possible  that  the  queen-mother  might  choose  to  refer  the 
cause  to  King  Henry,  who  was  tlien  in  Poland. 

Berenger  wrote  these  letters  with  much  thought  and  care, 
but  when  they  were  once  sealed,  be  collapsed  again  into  de- 
spair and  impatience,  and  frantically  paced  the  little  court 
as  if  ho  would  dash  himself  against  the  walls  that  detained 
him  from  Eustacie;  then  threw  himself  moodily  into  a 
chair,  hid  his  face  in  his  crossed  arms,  and  fell  a  j)rey  to 
all  the  wretched  visions  called  u]^  by  an  excited  bram. 

However,  he  was  equally  alive  with  Philip  to  the  high- 
spirited  resolution  that  his  enemies  should  not  perceive  or 
triumph  in  his  dejection.  He  showed  himself  at  the  noon- 
day dinner,  before  Ca^Dtain  Delarue  departed,  grave  and 
silent,  but  betraying  no  agitation;  and  he  roused  himself 
from  his  sad  musings  at  the  supper-hour,  to  arrange  his 
hair,  and  assume  the  ordinary  dress  of  gentlemen  in  the 
evening;  though  Philip  laughed  at  the  roses  adorning  his 
8hoes,  and  his  fresh  ruff,  as  needless  attentions  to  an  old 


76  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

ruffian  like  the  chevalier.  However,  Philip  started  when 
he  entered  the  hall,  and  beheld,  not  the  chevalier  alone, 
but  with  him  the  beautiful  lady  of  the  velvet  coach,  and 
another  stately,  extremely  handsome  dame,  no  longer  in 
her  first  youth,  and  in  costly  black  and  white  garments. 
When  the  chevalier  called  her  his  sister,  Mme.  de  Bellaise, 
Philip  had  no  notion  that  she  was  anything  but  a  widow, 
living  a  secular  life;  and  though  a  couj^le  of  nuns  attended 
her,  their  dress  was  so  much  less  conventual  than  Cecily's 
that  he  did  not  at  first  find  them  out.  It  was  exjilained 
that  Mme.  de  KSelinville  was  residing  with  her  aunt,  and 
that,  having  come  to  visit  her  father,  he  had  detained  the 
ladies  to  su^^per,  hoping  to  enliven  the  sojourn  of  his  heaux 
cousins. 

Mme.  de  Selinville,  looking  anxiously  at  Berenger,  hoped 
she  saw  him  in  better  health.  He  rejdied,  stiffly,  that  he 
was  perfectly  well;  and  then,  by  way  of  safety,  repaired  to 
the  society  of  the  abbess,  who  immediately  began  plying 
him  with  questions  about  England,  its  court,  and  especially 
the  secret  marriage  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  "  ce  Comte  de 
Dudley,"  on  which  she  was  so  minutely  informed  as  to  jnit 
him  to  the  blush.  Then  she  was  very  curious  about  the 
disjjersed  convents,  and  how  many  of  the  nuns  had  mar- 
ried; and  she  seemed  altogether  delighted  to  have  secured 
the  attention  of  a  youth  from  the  outer  world.  Ilis  soul  at 
first  recoiled  from  her  as  one  of  Eustacie's  oppressors,  and 
from  her  unconveut-like  talk;  and  yet  he  could  not  but 
think  her  a  good-natured  j^^rson,  and  wonder  if  she  could 
really  have  been  hard  upon  his  poor  little  wife.  And  she, 
who  had  told  Eustacie  she  would  strangle  with  her  own 
hands  the  scion  of  the  rival  house! — she,  like  most  women, 
was  much  more  bitter  against  an  unseen  being  out  of  reach, 
than  toward  a  courteously  mannered,  pale,  sufTering-look- 
ing  youth  close  beside  her.  She  had  enough  affection  for 
Eustacie  to  have  grieved  much  at  her  wanderings  and  at 
her  fate;  and  now  the  sorrow-stricken  look  that  by  no  effort 
could  be  concealed  really  moved  her  toward  the  young  be- 
reaved husband.  Besides,  were  not  all  feuds  on  the  point 
of  being  made  up  by  the  excellent  device  concocted  between 
her  brother  and  her  niece? 

Meantime,  Philijj  was  in  raptures  with  the  kindness  of 
the  beautiful  Mme.  de  Selinville.  He,  whom  the  Mistresses 
\Yalsiugham  treated  as  a  mere  clumsy  boy,  was  j^romoted 


THE  cnAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  77 

by  her  manner  to  be  a  man  and  a  cavalier.  lie  blushed  up 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair  and  looked  sheepish  whenever  one 
of  her  entrancing  smiles  lighted  upon  him;  but  then  she 
inquired  after  his  brotlier  so  cordially,  she  told  him  so  open- 
ly how  brilliant  had  been  Berenger's  career  at  the  court, 
she  I'cgretted  so  heartily  their  present  danger  and  detention, 
and  promised  so  warmly  to  use  her  interest  with  Queen 
Catherine,  th!i,t,  in  the  delight  of  being  so  talked  to,  he  for- 
got his  awkwardness  and  spoke  freely  and  confidentially, 
may  be  too  confidentialy,  for  he  caught  Berenger  frowning 
at  him,  and  made  a  sudden  halt  in  his  narrative,  discon- 
certed but  very  angry  with  his  brother  for  his  distrust. 

When  the  ladies  had  ridden  away  to  the  convent  in  the 
summer  evening,  and  the  two  brotliers  had  returned  to 
their  prison,  Pliilijo  wonld  have  begun  to  rave  about 
Mme.  de  Selinville,  but  his  mouth  was  stopped  at  once 
with,  "Don't  be  such  a  fool,  Phil!''  and  wlien  Berenger 
shut  his  eyes,  leaned  back,  and  folded  his  arms  together, 
there  was  no  more  use  in  talking  to  him. 

This  exceeding  dejection  continued  for  a  day  or  two, 
while  Berenger's  whole  sjjirit  chafed  in  agony  at  liis  helj> 
lessness,  and  like  demons  there  ever  haunted  him  the 
thoughts  of  what  might  betide  Eustacie,  young,  fair,  for- 
saken, and  believing  herself  a  widow.  Proudly  defiant  as 
he  showed  himself  to  all  eyes  beyond  his  tower,  he  seemed 
to  be  fast  gnawing  and  pining  himself  away  in  the  anguish 
he  suffered  throngh  these  long  days  of  captivity. 

Perhaps  it  was  Philip's  excitement  about  any  chance  of 
meeting  Mme.  de  Selinville  that  first  roused  him  from  the 
contemplation  of  his  own  misery.  It  struck  him  that  if  he 
did  not  rouse  himself  to  exert  his  influence,  the  boy,  left 
to  no  companionship  save  what  he  could  make  for  himself, 
might  be  fed  away  by  intercourse  with  the  gendarmes,  or 
by  the  blandishments  of  Diane,  whatever  might  be  her 
game.  He  must  be  watched  over,  and  returned  to  Sir  Mar- 
maduke  the  same  true-hearted  honest  lad  who  had  left 
home.  Nor  had  Berenger  lain  so  long  under  Cecily  St. 
John's  tender  watching  without  bearing  away  some  notes 
of  patience,  trust,  and  dutifulness  that  returned  upon  him 
as  his  mind  recovered  tone  after  the  first  shock.  The  whis- 
pers that  had  bidden  him  tarry  the  Lord's  leisure,  be 
strong,  and  commit  his  way  to  llim  who  could  bring  it  to 
pass,  and  could  save  Eustacie  as  she  had  already  been 


78  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

saved,  returned  to  liim  once  more:  he  cliid  himself  for  his 
faintness  of  heart,  ralhed  his  powers,  and  determined  that 
cheerfuhiess,  dutifuhiess,  and  care  for  Phili]:)  should  no 
longer  fail. 

So  he  reviewed  his  resources,  and  in  the  first  place  ar- 
ranged for  a  brief  daily  worship  with  his  two  English  fel- 
low-prisoners, corresponding  to  the  home  hours  of  chapel 
service.  Then  he  jiroposed  to  Philij:)  to  spend  an  hour 
every  day  over  the  study  of  the  Latin  Bible:  and  when 
Philij)  showed  himself  reluctant  to  give  up  his  habit  of 
staring  over  the  battlements,  he  reji resented  that  an  attack 
on  their  faith  was  not  so  imjjrobable  but  they  ought  to  be 
prepared  for  it. 

"  I'm  quite  prepared,^ '  quoth  Philip;  "  I  shall  not  listen 
to  a  word  they  say. ' ' 

However,  he  submitted  to  this,  but  was  far  more  contu- 
macious as  to  Berenger 's  other  proposal  of  profiting  by  Sid- 
ney's copy  of  Virgil.  Here  at  least  he  was  away  from  Mr. 
Adderley  and  study,  and  it  passed  endurance  to  have  Latin 
and  captivity  both  at  once.  He  was  more  obliged  for  Beren- 
ger's  offer  to  impart  to  him  the  instruction  in  fencing  he 
had  received  during  his  first  visit  to  Paris;  the  chevalier 
made  no  difficulty  about  lending  them  foils,  and  their  little 
court  became  the  scene  of  numerous  encounters,  as  well  as 
of  other  games  and  exercises.  More  sedentary  sjiorts  were 
at  their  service,  chess,  tables,  dice,  or  cards,  but  Phihp  de- 
tested these,  and  they  were  only  j^layed  in  the  evening,  or  on 
a  rainy  afternoon,  by  Berenger  and  the  chevalier. 

It  was  clearly  no  part  of  the  old  gentleman's  plan  to 
break  their  health  or  spirits.  He  insisted  on  takiiig  them 
out  riding  frequently,  though  always  with  four  gendarmes 
with  loaded  arquebuses,  so  as  to  preclude  all  attempt  at  es- 
cape,  or  conversation  with  the  j)easants.  The  rides  were 
hateful  to  both  youths,  but  Berenger  knew  that  so  many 
hours  of  tedium  were  thus  disposed  of,  and  hoped  also  to 
acquire  some  knowledge  of  the  country;  indeed,  he  looked 
at  every  cottage  and  every  peasant  with  affectionate  eyes, 
as  probably  having  sheltered  Eustacie;  and  Philip,  after 
one  visit  paid  to  the  convent  at  Bellaise,  was  always  in 
hojjes  of  making  such  another.  His  boyish  admiration  of 
Mnie.  de  Selinville  was  his  chief  distraction,  coming  on  in 
accesses  whenever  there  was  a  hope  of  seeing  her,  antl  often 
diverting  Berenger  by  its  absurdities,  even  though  at  other 


THE    CUAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  70 

times  he  feared  that  the  Lad  might  be  led  away  by  it,  or 
dissension  sown  between  them.  Meetings  were  rare — now 
and  then  Mme.  de  Selinville  woidd  aj^pear  at  dinner  or  at 
supper  as  her  fatlier's  guest;  and  more  rarely,  the  cheva- 
lier would  turn  his  horse's  head  in  the  direction  of  Bellaise, 
and  the  three  gentlemen  would  be  received  in  the  unpar- 
titioned  parlor,  and  there  treated  to  such  lemon  cakes  as 
had  been  the  ruin  of  La  Sable rie;  but  in  general  the  castle 
and  the  convent  had  little  intercourse,  or  only  just  enough 
to  whet  the  appetite  of  the  prisoners  for  v/liat  constituted 
their  only  variety. 

Six  weeks  had  lagged  by  before  any  answer  from  Paris 
was  received,  and  then  there  was  no  reply  from  Walsing- 
ham,  who  had,  it  appeared,  returned  home  immediately 
after  King  Charles's  funeral.  The  letter  from  the  council 
bore  that  the  queen-mother  was  ready  to  accept  the  Baron 
de  Eibaumont's  excuses  in  good  part,  and  to  consider  his 
youth;  and  she  had  no  doubt  of  his  being  treated  with  the 
like  indulgence  by  the  king,  provided  he  would  prove  him- 
self a  loyal  subject,  by  embracing  the  Catholic  faith,  re- 
nouncing all  his  illegitimate  claims  to  the  estates  of  Nid-de- 
Merle,  and,  in  pledge  of  his  sincerity,  wedding  his  coushi, 
the  Countess  de  Selinville,  so  soon  as  a  disjjensation  should 
have  been  procured.  On  no  other  consideration  could  he 
be  pardoned  or  set  at  liberty. 

Then,"  said  Berenger  slowly,  "  a  prisoner  I  must  re- 
main until  it  be  the  will  of  Heaven  to  open  the  doors. " 

"Fair  nephew!"  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  "make  no 
rash  replies.  Bethink  you  to  what  you  expose  yourself  by 
obstinacy.  I  may  no  longer  be  able  to  protect  you  when  the 
king  returns."  And  he  further  went  on  to  represent  that, 
oj  renouncing  voluntarily  all  possible  claims  on  the  Nid- 
de-Merle  estates,  the  baron  would  save  the  honor  of  poor 
Eustacie  (which  indeed  equally  concerned  the  rest  of  the 
family),  since  they  then  would  gladly  drop  all  dispute  of 
the  validity  of  the  marriage;  and  the  lands  of  Selinville 
would  be  an  amj^le  equivalent  for  these,  as  well  as  for  all 
expectations  in  England. 

"Sir,  it  is  impossible!"  said  Berenger.  "My  wife 
lives." 

"  Comment  9  when  you  wear  mourning  for  her." 

*'  I  wear  black  because  I  have  been  able  to  procure  noth- 
ing else  since  I  have  been  convinced  that  she  did  not  perish 


80  THE  CHAPLET  OV    PEARLS. 

at  La  Sablerie.  I  was  on  my  way  to  seek  her  when  I  was 
seized  and  detained  liere. " 

"  Where  would  you  have  sought  her,  my  poor  cousin?^' 
compassionately  asked  the  chevalier. 

"  That  I  know  not.  8he  may  be  in  England  by  this 
time;  but  that  she  escaj^ed  from  La  Sablerie,  I  am  well  as- 
sured." 

"Alas!  my  poor  friend,  you  feed  on  delusion.  I  have 
surer  evidence — you  shall  see  the  man  yourself— one  of  my 
son's  people,  who  was  actually  at  the  assault,  and  had  strict 
orders  to  seek  and  save  her.  Would  that  I  could  feel  the 
least  hope  left!" 

"  Is  the  man  here?  Let  me  see  him,"  said  Berenger, 
hastily. 

He  was  at  once  sent  for,  and  proved  to  be  one  of  the 
stable  servants,  a  rough,  soldierly-looking  man,  who  made 
no  difficulty  in  telling  that  M.  de  Nid-de- Merle  had  bidden 
his  own  troop  to  use  every  eftort  to  reach  the  Widow  Lau- 
rent's house,  and  secure  the  lady.  They  had  made  for  it, 
but  missed  the  way,  and  met  with  various  obstacles;  and 
when  they  reached  it,  it  was  already  in  flames,  and  he  had 
seen  for  a  moment  Mile,  de  Nid-de-Merle,  whom  he  well 
knew  by  sight,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms  at  an  upper  win- 
dow. He  had  called  to  her  by  name,  and  was  about  to 
send  for  a  ladder,  when  recognizing  the  Ribaumont  colors, 
she  had  turned  back,  and  thrown  herself  and  her  child  into 
the  flames.  M.  de  IS!  id -de -Merle  was  frantic  when  he 
heard  of  it,  and  they  had  searched  for  the  remains  among 
the  ruins;  but,  bah!  it  was  like  a  lime-kiln,  nothing  was  to 
be  found — all  was  calcined. 

"  No  fragment  left?"  said  Berenger;  "not  a  corner  of 
tile  or  beam?" 

"  Not  so  much  wood  as  you  could  boil  an  egg  with;  I 
will  swear  it  on  the  Mass," 

"  That  is  needless,"  said  Berenger.  "I  have  seen  the 
spot  myself.     That  is  all  I  desired  to  ask." 

The  chevalier  would  have  taken  his  hand  and  condoled 
with  him  over  the  horrible  story;  but  he  drew  back,  re- 
peating that  he  had  seen  Widow  Laurent's  house,  and  that 
lie  savv  that  some  parts  of  the  man 's  story  were  so  much 
falsified  that  he  could  not  believe  the  rest.  Moreover,  ho 
knew  that  Eustacie  had  not  been  in  the  town  at  the  time  of 
the  siege. 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  81 

Now  the  chevalier  hona  fide  believed  the  man's  story,  so 
far  as  that  he  never  doubted  that  Eustacie  had  perished, 
and  he  looked  on  Berenger's  refusal  to  accept  the  tale  as 
the  mournful  last  clinging  to  a  vain  liope.  In  his  eyes,  the 
actual  sight  of  Eustacie,  and  the  total  destruction  of  the 
house,  were  mere  matters  of  embellishment,  possibl}'  un- 
true, but  not  invalidating  the  main  fact,  lie  only  said, 
"  Well,  my  friend,  I  will  not  press  you  while  the  paiu  of 
this  narration  is  still  fresh." 

"  Thank  you,  sir;  bat  this  is  not  pain,  for  I  believe  not 
a  word  of  it;  therefore  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  entertain 
the  proposal,  even  if  I  could  forsake  my  faith  or  my  En- 
glish kindred.  You  remember,  sir,  that  I  returned  this 
same  answer  at  Paris,  when  I  had  no  hope  that  my  wife 
survived." 

"  True,  my  fair  cousin,  but  I  fear  time  will  convince 
you  that  this  constancy  is  uidiapjiily  misjilaccd.  You  shall 
have  time  to  consider;  and  when  it  is  proved  to  you  that 
my  jjoor  niece  is  out  of  the  reach  of  your  fidelity,  and  when 
you  have  become  better  acquainted  with  the  claims  of  the 
Church  to  your  allegiance,  then  may  it  only  prove  that  your 
conversion  does  not  come  too  late.  I  have  the  honor  to 
take  my  leave. " 

"  One  moment  more,  sir.  Is  there  no  answer  as  to  my 
brother?" 

"  None,  cousin.  As  I  told  you,  your  country  has  at 
present  no  embassador;  but,  of  course,  on  your  fulfillment 
of  the  conditions,  he  would  be  released  with  you." 

"  So,"  said  Philip,  when  the  old  knight  had  quitted  the 
room,  "  of  course  you  can  not  marry  while  Eustacie  lives; 
but  if—" 

"  Not  another  word,  profane  boy!"  angrily  cried  Beren- 
ger. 

"I  was  only  going  to  say,  it  is  a  pity  of  one  so  goodly 
not  to  bring  her  over  to  the  true  faith,  and  take  her  to 
England. " 

"  Much  w^ould  she  be  beholden  to  you!"  said  Berenger. 
"  So!"  he  added,  sighing,  "  I  had  little  hope  but  that  it 
would  be  thus.  I  believe  it  is  all  a  web  of  this  old  plotter's 
weaving,  and  that  the  queen-mother  acts  in  it  at  his  re- 
quest. He  wants  only  to  buy  me  off  with  his  daughter's 
estates  from  asserting  my  claim  to  this  castle  and  lands; 
and  I  trow  he  will  never  rise  up  here  till — till — " 


82  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

"  Till  when.  Berry?" 

"  Till  mayhap  my  grandfather  can  move  the  queen  to 
do  something  for  us;  or  till  Madame  de  Selinville  sees  a 
face  she  likes  better  than  her  brother's  carving;  or — what 
call  I  tell? — till  malice  is  tired  out^  and  Heaven's  will  sets  us 
free!  May  Eustacie  only  have  reached  home!  But  I'm 
sorry  for  you,  my  poor  Phil. " 

"  Never  heed,  brother,"  said  Philip;  "  what  is  jjrison  to 
me,  so  that  I  can  now  and  then  see  those  lovely  eyes?'^ 

And  the  languishing  air  of  the  clumsy  lad  was  so  comical 
as  to  beguile  Berenger  into  a  laugh.  Yet  Berenger's  own 
feeling  would  go  back  to  his  first  meeting  with  Diane;  and 
as  he  thought  of  the  eyes  then  fixed  on  him,  he  felt  that  he 
was  under  a  trial  that  might  become  more  severe. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  DARK  POOL  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

Trlumpli,  triumph,  only  slie 

That  kuit  his  bonds  can  set  him  free. 

SOUTHEY. 

No  change  was  made  in  the  life  of  the  captives  of  Nid- 
de-Merle  after  the  answer  from  Paris,  excei^t  that  Pere 
Bonami,  who  had  already  once  or  twice  dined  at  the  cheva- 
lier's table,  was  request'^d  to  make  formal  exposition  of  the 
errors  of  the  Eeformcrs  and  of  the  tenets  of  his  own  Church 
to  the  Baron  de  Ribaumont. 

Philip  took  such  good  care  not  to  be  deluded  that, 
though  he  sat  by  to  see  fair  play,  yet  it  was  always  with 
liis  elbows  on  the  table  and  his  fingers  in  his  ears,  regard- 
less of  appearing  to  the  joriest  in  the  character  of  the  deaf 
adder.  After  all,  he  was  not  the  object,  and  good  Pere 
Bonami  at  first  thought  the  day  his  own,  when  he  found 
that  almost  all  his  arguments  against  Calvinism  were 
equally  impressed  upon  Berenger's  mind,  but  the  differ- 
ences soon  revealed  themselves;  and  the  priest,  though  a 
good  man,  was  not  a  very  happily  chosen  champion,  for  he 
was  one  of  the  old-fashioned,  scantily  instructed  country 
priests,  who  were  more  nimierous  before  the  Jesiut  revival 
of  learning,  and  knew  nothing  of  controversy  save  that 
adapted  to  the  doctrines  of  Calvin;  so  that,  in  dealing  with 
an  Anglican  of  the  school  of  Ridley  and  Hooker,  it  was 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  83 

like  bow  and  arrow  against  sword.  And  in  those  days  of 
change,  controversial  reading  was  one  of  the  primaiy  stud- 
ies even  of  young  hiymen,  and  Lord  AValtvyn,  witli  a  view 
to  his  grandson's  pecuh'ar  position,  had  taken  care  that  he 
should  be  well  instructed,  so  that  he  was  not  at  all  unequal 
to  the  contest.  Moreover,  niydvt  from  argument,  he  clung 
as  a  point  of  honor  to  the  Church  as  to  the  wife  that  he  had 
accepted  in  his  childhood;  and  often  tried  to  recall  the 
sketch  that  Philip  Sidney  had  once  given  him  of  a  tale  that 
a  friend  of  his  designed  to  turn  into  a  poem,  like  Ari- 
osto's,  in  ferza  rima,  of  a  Red  Cross  knight  separated  from 
his  Una  as  the  true  faith,  and  tempted  by  a  treacherous 
Duessa,  who  im2:)ersonated  at  once  Falsehood  and  Rome. 
And  he  knew  so  well  that  the  least  relaxation  of  his  almost 
terrified  resistance  would  make  him  so  entirely  succumb  to 
Diane's  beauty  and  brilliancy,  that  he  kept  himself  stiffly 
frigid  and  reserved. 

Diane  never  openly  alluded  to  the  terms  on  which  he 
stood,  but  he  often  found  gifts  from  unknown  hands  placed 
in  his  room.  The  books  which  he  had  found  there  were 
changed  when  he  had  had  time  to  study  them;  and  marks 
were  placed  in  some  of  the  most  striking  passages.  They 
were  of  the  class  that  turned  the  brain  of  the  Knight  of  La 
Mancha,  but  with  a  jiredominance  of  the  pastoral,  such  as 
the  Diana  of  George  of  Montemayor  and  his  numerous  imi- 
tators—  which  Philip  thought  horrible  stuff  —  enduring 
nothing  but  a  few  of  the  combats  of  Amadis  de  Gaul  or 
Palmerin  of  England,  until  he  found  that  Mme.  de  Selin- 
ville  prodigiously  admired  the  "  silly  swains  more  silly  than 
their  sheep,"  and  was  very  anxious  that  M.  le  Baron  should 
be  touched  by  their  beauties;  whereupon  honest  Philip 
made  desperate  efforts  to  swallow  them  in  his  brother's 
stead,  but  was  always  found  fast  asleep  in  the  very  middle 
of  arguments  between  Damon  and  Thyrsis  upon  the  dev- 
oirs of  love,  or  the  mourning  of  some  disconsolate  nymph 
over  her  jealousies  of  a  favored  rival. 

One  day,  a  beautiful  ivory  box,  exhaling  sweet  perfume, 
appeared  in  the  prison  chamber,  and  therewith  a  sealed 
letter  in  verse,  containing  an  affecting  description  of  how 
Corydon  had  been  cruelly  torn  by  the  lions  in  endeavoring 
to  bear  away  Sylvie  from  her  cavern,  how  8ylvie  had  been 
rent  from  him  and  lost,  and  how  vainly  he  contiinied  to 
bewail  her,  and  disregard  the  loving  lame.it  of  Daphne, 


84  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

who  had  ever  mourned  find  pined  for  him  as  she  kept  her 
flock,  made  the  rivulets,  the  brooks,  the  mountains  re-echo 
with  her  sighs  and  plaints,  and  had  wandered  through  the 
hills  and  valleys,  gathering  simples  wherewith  she  had  com- 
pounded a  balsam  that  might  do  away  with  tlie  scars  that 
the  claws  of  the  lions  had  left,  so  that  he  might  again  ap- 
pear with  the  glowing  cheeks  and  radiant  locks  that  had 
excited  the  envy  of  the  god  of  day. 

Berenger  burst  out  laughing  over  the  practical  part  of 
this  poetical  performance,  and  laughed  the  more  at  Philip's 
hurt,  injured  air  at  his  mirth.  Philip,  who  would  have 
been  the  first  to  see  the  absurdity  in  any  other  Daphne, 
thought  this  a  passing  pleasant  device,  and  considered  it 
very  unkind  in  his  brother  not  even  to  make  ex2)eriment  of 
the  balsam  of  simijles,  but  to  declare  that  he  had  much 
rather  keep  his  scars  for  Eustacie's  sake  than  wear  a 
smooth  face  to  please  Diane. 

Still  Berenger 's  natural  courtesy  stood  in  his  way.  He 
could  not  help  being  respectful  and  attentive  to  the  old 
chevalier,  when  their  terms  were,  apparently  at  least,  those 
of  host  and  guest;  ajid  to  a  lady  he  could  not  be  rude  and 
repellent,  though  he  could  be  reserved.  So,  when  the  kins- 
folk met,  no  stranger  would  have  discovered  that  one  was  a 
prisoner  and  the  others  his  cajotors. 

One  August  day,  when  Mme.  de  Selinville  and  her  lady 
attendants  were  supping  at  the  castle  at  the  early  hour  of 
six,  a  servant  brought  in  word  that  an  Italian  peddler  craved 
leave  to  display  his  wares.  He  was  welcome,  both  for  need's 
sake  and  for  amusement,  and  was  readily  admitted.  He 
was  a  handsome  olive-faced  Italian,  and  was  followed  by  a 
little  boy  with  a  skin  of  almost  Moorish  dye — and  great  was 
the  display  at  once  made  on  the  tables,  of 

"  Lawn  as  wliite  as  driven  snow, 
Cyprus,  black  as  e'er  was  crow; 
Gloves  as  sweet  as  fragrant  posies, 
Masks  for  faces  and  fur  noses;" 

and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  the  eager,  desultory  bargain- 
ing that  naturally  took  place  where  purchasing  was  an  un- 
usual excitement  and  novelty,  and  was  to  form  a  whole 
evening's  amusement.  Berenger,  while  supplying  the  de- 
fects of  his  scanty  traveling  wardrobe,  was  trying  to  make 
out  whether  he  had  seen  tlie  man  before,  wondering  if  he 


THE    CHAPMT    OF    PEARLS.  85 

were  the  same  whom  he  had  met  in  the  forest  of  Mont- 
pipeau,  though  a  few  differences  in  dress,  hair,  and  beard 
made  him  somewhat  doubtful. 

"  Perfumes?  Yes,  lady,  I  have  store  of  perfumes;  am- 
bergris and  violet  dew,  and  the  'J^irkish  essence  distilled 
from  roses;  yea  and  the  finest  sjiirit  of  the  Venus  myrtle- 
tree,  the  secret  known  to  the  Koman  dames  of  old,  whereby 
they  secured  perpetual  beauty  and  love  —  though  truly 
madame  should  need  no  such  essence.  That  which  nature 
has  bestowed  on  her  secures  to  her  all  hearts — and  one  val- 
ued more  than  all. " 

"  Enough,"  said  Diane,  blushing  somewhat,  though  with 
an  effort  at  laughing  off  his  words;  "  these  are  the  tricks 
of  your  trade. " 

"  Madame  is  incredulous;  yet,  lady,  1  have  been  in  the 
East.  Yonder  boy  comes  from  the  land  where  there  are 
spells  that  make  known  the  secrets  of  lives. " 

The  old  chevalier,  who  had  hitherto  been  taken  u])  with 
the  abstruse  calculation — derived  from  his  past  days  of 
economy — how  much  ribbon  would  be  needed  to  retrim 
his  nnivvey  jnsf-au-corps,  here  began  to  lend  an  ear,  though 
saying  nothing.  Philip  looked  on  in  open-eyed  wonder, 
and  nudged  his  brother,  who  muttered  in  return,  "Jug 
glery!" 

"  Ah,  the  fair  company  are  all  slow  to  believe,"  said  the 

{)eddler.  "  Hola,  Alessio!"  and  taking  a  glove  that  Philip 
lad  left  on  the  table,  he  held  it  to  the  boy.  A  few  unintel- 
ligible words  passed  between  them;  then  the  boy  pointed 
direct  to  Philip,  and  wav^ed  his  hand  nortbward.  "  Ho  says 
the  gentleman  who  owns  this  glove  comes  fi-om  the  North, 
from  far  away,"  interpreted  the  Italian;  then  as  the  boy 
made  the  gesture  of  walking  in  chains,  "  that  he  is  a  cap- 
tive.'* 

"  Ay,"  cried  Philip,  "right,  lad;  and  can  he  tell  how 
long  I  stiall  be  so?" 

"  Things  yet  to  come,"  said  the  mountebank,  "  are  only 
revealed  after  long  preparation.  For  them  must  he  gaze 
into  the  dark  pool  of  the  future.  The  present  and  the  past 
he  can  divine  by  the  mere  touch  of  what  has  belonged  to 
the  person." 

"It  is  passing  strange,"  said  Philip  to  Mme.  de  Selin- 
ville.     "You  credit  it,  madame?" 

"  Ah,  have  we  not  seen  the  wonders  come  to  pass  that  a 


8(3  THE  cHaplet  of  pearls. 

like  diviner  foretold  to  the  queen-mother?"  said  Diane; 
"  her  sons  should  be  all  kings — that  was  told  to  her  when 
the  eldest  was  yet  Dauphhi. '^ 

"  And  there  is  only  one  yet  to  come,"  said  Philip,  awe- 
struck.    "  But  see,  what  has  he  now?'^ 

"  Veronique's  kerchief/' returned  Mnie.  de  Selinville, 
as  the  Italian  began  to  interpret  the  boy's  gesture. 

"  Pretty  maidens,  he  says,  serve  fair  ladies — bear  tokens 
for  them.  This  damsel  has  once  been  the  bearer  of  a  bou- 
quet of  heather  of  the  pink  and  white,  whose  bells  were  to 
ring  hope. " 

"  Eh,  eh,  madame,  it  is  true!"  cried  Veronique,  crimson 
with  surprise  and  alarm.  "  Monsieur  le  Baron  knows  it  is 
true. " 

Berenger  had  started  at  this  revelation,  and  uttered  an 
inarticulate  exclamation;  but  at  that  moment  the  boy,  in 
whose  hand  his  master  had  placed  a  crown  from  the  money 
newly  j^aid,  began  to  make  vehement  gestures,  which  the 
man  interj^reted.  "  Le  Balafre,  he  says,  pardon  me,  gen- 
tlemen, h  Balafre  could  reveal  even  a  deeper  scar  of  the 
heart  than  of  the  visage  " — and  the  boy's  brown  hand  was 
pressed  on  his  heart — "  yet  truly  there  is  yet  hope  {es- 
perance)  iohQiomA.  Yes" — as  the  boy  put  his  hand  to 
his  neck — "  he  bears  a  pearl,  parted  from  its  sister  pearls. 
Where  they  are,  there  is  hope.  Who  can  miss  Hope,  who 
has  sought  it  at  a  royal  death-bed?" 

"  Ah,  where  is  it?"  Berenger  could  not  help  exclaiming. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  peddler,  "  as  I  told  messieurs  and  mes- 
dames  before,  the  spirits  that  cast  the  lights  of  the  future 
on  the  dark  230ol  need  invocation.  Ere  he  can  answer  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron's  demands,  he  and  I  must  have  time  and 
seclusion.  If  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  will  grant  us  an  emj^ty 
room,  there  will  we  answer  all  queries  on  which  the  spirits 
will  throw  light." 

"  And  how  am  I  to  know  that  you  will  not  bring  the 
devil  to  shatter  the  castle,  my  friend?"  demanded  the 
chevalier.  "  Or  more  likely  still,  that  you  are  not  laugh- 
ing all  the  time  at  these  credulous  boys  and  ladies?" 

"  Of  that,  sir,  you  may  here  convince  yourself,"  said  the 
mountebank,  putting  into  his  hand  a  sort  of  credential  in 
Italian,  signed  by  Renato  di  Milano,  the  queen's  jicrfumer, 
testifying  to  the  skill  of  his  compatriot  Ercole  Stizzito  both 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  87 

in  perfumery,  cosmetics,  and  in  the  secrets  of  occult  sci- 
ences. 

I'lie  chevalier  was  no  Italian  scholar,  and  his  daughter 
interpreted  the  scroll  to  him,  in  a  rapid  low  voice,  adding, 
"  I  have  had  many  dealings  with  Rene  of  Milan,  father.  I 
know  he  speaks  sooth.  There  can  be  no  harm  in  letting 
the  poor  man  play  out  his  play — all  the  castle  servants  will 
be  frantic  to  have  their  fortunes  told. " 

"  I  must  speak  with  the  fellow  first,  daughter,'^  said  the 
chevalier.  "  He  must  satisfy  me  that  he  has  no  unlawful 
dealings  that  could  bring  the  Church  down  on  us.'"  And 
he  looked  meaningly  at  the  mountebank,  who  replied  by  a 
whole  mnster-roll  of  ecclesiastics,  male  and  female,  who 
had  heard  and  ap2')roved  his  predictions. 

"  A  few  more  words  with  thee,  fellow,'^  said  the  cheva- 
lier, pointing  the  way  to  one  of  the  rooms  opening  out  of 
the  hall.  "  As  master  of  the  house  I  must  be  convinced  of 
his  honesty,^'  he  added.  "If  I  am  satisfied,  then  who 
will  may  seek  to  hear  their  fortune. " 

Chevalier,  man  and  boy  disappeared,  and  Philip  was  the 
first  to  exclaim,  "  A  strange  fellow!  What  will  he  tell  us? 
Madame,  shall  you  hear  him?" 

"  That  dejjends  on  my  father's  report,"  she  said.  "  And 
yet,"  sadly  and  pensively,  "  my  future  is  dark  and  void 
enough.     Why  should  I  vex  m3^self  with  hearing  it?" 

"  Nay,  it  may  brighten,' '  said  Philip. 

"  Scarcely,  while  hearts  are  hard,"  she  murmured  with 
a  slight  shake  of  the  head,  that  Philip  thought  indescriba- 
bly touching;  but  Berenger  was  gathering  his  purchases  to- 
gether, and  did  not  see.   "  And  you,  brother,"  said  Philip, 

you  mean  to  prove  him?" 

"  No,"  said  Berenger.  "  Have  you  forgotten,  Phil,  the 
anger  we  met  with,  when  we  dealt  with  the  gypsy  at  Hurst 
Fair?" 

"  Pshaw,  Berry,  we  are  past  flogging  now." 

"  Out  of  reach,  Phil,  of  the  rod,  but  scarce  of  the  teach- 
ing it  struck  into  us. " 

"  What?"  said  Philip  sulkily. 

"  That  divining  is  either  cozening  man  or  forsaking  God, 
Phil.  Either  it  is  falsehood,  or  it  is  a  lying  wonder  of  the 
devil." 

"  But,  Berry,  this  man  is  no  cheat. " 

"  Then  he  is  worse. " 


88  THB  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  Only,  turn  not  away,  brother.  Hosv  should  he  have 
known  things  that  even  I  know  not?  the  heaUier.^' 

"  No  marvel  in  that,"  said  Berenger.  "  This  is  the  very 
man  I  bought  Annora's  fan  from;  he  was  prowling  round 
Montpipeau,  and  my  heather  was  given  to  Veronique  with 
little  secrecy.  And  as  to  the  royal  deathbed,  it  was  Kene, 
his  master,  who  met  me  there.  ""^ 

"  Then  you  think  it  mere  cozening?  If  so,  we  should 
find  it  out. " 

"I  don't  reckon  myself  keener  than  an  accomplished 
Italian  mountebank,"  said  Berenger,  dryly. 

Further  conference  was  cut  short  by  the  return  of  the 
chevalier,  saying,  in  his  paternal  genial  way,  "  Well,  chil- 
dren, I  have  examined  the  fellow  and  his  credentials,  and 
for  those  who  have  enough  youth  and  hojie  to  care  to  have 
the  future  made  know^n  to  them,  bah  I  it  is  well.'" 

"  Is  it  sorcery,  sir?"  asked  Philip,  anxiously. 

The  chevalier  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  know  I?" 
he  said.  "  For  those  who  have  a  fine  nose  for  brimstone 
there  may  be,  but  he  assures  me  it  is  but  the  white  magic 
practiced  in  Egypt,  and  the  boy  is  Christian!" 

"  Did  you  try  his  secrets,  father?"  inquired  Mme.  de 
Selinville. 

"  I,  my  daughter?  An  old  man's  fortune  is  in  his  chil- 
dren.    What  have  I  to  ask?" 

"  I — I  scarcely  like  to  be  the  first!"  said  the  lady,  eager 
but  hesitating.  "  Veronique,  you  would  have  your  fort- 
une told?" 

"  I  will  be  the  first,"  said  Philiii,  stej^ping  forward  man- 
fully. "  I  will  prove  him  for  you,  lady,  and  tell  you 
whether  he  be  a  cozener  or  not;  or  if  his  magic  be  fit  for 
you  to  deal  with. " 

And  confident  in  the  inherent  intuition  of  a  plain  En- 
glishman, as  well  as  satisfied  to  exercise  his  resolution  for 
once  in  opposition  to  Berenger's  oi^inion.  Master  Thistle- 
wood  stepped  toward  the  closet  where  the  Italian  awaited 
his  clients,  and  Berenger  knew  that  it  would  be  worse  than 
useless  (o  endeavor  to  withhold  him.  lie  only  chafed  at  the 
smile  which  passed  between  father  and  daughter  at  this 
doughty  self-assertion. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Berenger  sat  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  window  where  the  twilight  horizon  was  still 
soft  and  bright  with  the  pearly  gold  of  the  late  sunset, 


THE    ClIAPLET    CF    PEAltLS.  89 

tliiiiking  with  an  intensity  of  yearning  what  it  would  be 
could  he  truly  become  certain  of  Eustacie's  present  doings; 
questioning  whether  he  would  try  to  satisfy  that  longing  by 
the  doubtful  auguries  of  the  diviner,  and  then,  recollecting 
how  he  had  heard  from  \vrecked  sailoi's  that  to  seek  to  de- 
lude their  thirst  with  sea-water  did  but  aggravate  their 
misery.  He  knew  that  wluitcver  he  might  hear  would  be  un- 
worthy of  confidence.  Eiiher  it  might  have  been  prompted 
by  the  chevalier,  or  it  might  be  merely  framed  to  soothe 
and  please  him — or,  were  it  a  genuine  oracle,  he  had  no 
faith  in  the  instinct  that  was  to  perceive  it,  but  what  he 
had  faith  in  was  the  Divine  protection  over  his  lost  ones. 
"  No,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  I  will  not  by  a  presumptu- 
ous sin,  in  my  own  impatience,  risk  incurring  woes  on 
them  that  deal  with  familiar  spirits  and  wizards  that  peep 
and  mutter.  If  ever  I  am  to  hear  of  Eustacie  again,  it 
shall  be  by  God's  will,  not  the  devil's," 

Diane  do  Selinville  had  been  watching  his  face  all  the 
time,  and  now  said,  with  that  almost  timid  air  of  gayety 
that  she  wore  when  addressing  him:  "  You  too,  cousin,  are 
awaiting  Monsieur  Philippe's  report  to  decide  whether  to 
look  into  the  pool  of  mystery." 

"  Not  at  all,  madame,"  said  Berenger,  gravely,  *'  I  do 
not  understand  white  magic." 

Our  good  cousin  has  been  too  well  bred  among  the  Re- 
formers to  condescend  to  our  little  wickednesses,  daughter," 
said  the  chevalier;  and  the  sneer — much  like  that  which 
w^oull  await  a  person  now  who  scrupled  at  joining  in  table- 
turning  or  any  form  of  sinritualism — j^urpled  Berenger's 
scar,  now  his  only  manner  of  blushing;  but  he  instantly 
perceived  that  it  was  the  chevalier's  desire  that  he  should 
consult  the  conjurer,  and  therefore  became  the  more  re- 
solved against  running  into  a  trap. 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Mme.  de  Selinville,  earnestly,  though 
with  an  affectation  of  lightness,  "  a  little  wickedness  is  fair 
when  there  is  a  great  deal  at  stake.  For  my  part,  I  would 
not  hesitate  long,  to  find  out  how  soon  the  king  will  relent 
toward  my  fair  cousin  here!" 

"  That,  madame,"  said  Berenger,  with  the  same  grave 
dryness,  "  is  hkely  to  be  better  known  to  other  persons  than 
this  wandering  Greek  boy." 

Here  Philip's  step  was  heard  returning  hastily.  He  was 
pale,  and  looked  a  good  deal  excited,  so  that  Mme.  de 


90  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

Seliiiville  uttered  a  little  cry,  and  exclaimed,  "  Ah!  is  it  so 
dreadi'iil  then?" 

"  No,  no,  niailame,"  said  Philip,  turning  round,  with  a 
fervor  and  confidence  he  had  never  before  shown.  "  On 
my  word,  there  is  nothing  formidable.  You  see  nothing — 
nothing  but  the  Italian  and  the  boy.  The  boy  gazes  mto  a 
vessel  of  some  black  liquid,  and  sees — sees  there  all  you 
would  have  revealed.     Ah  I" 

"  Then  you  believe?'^  asked  Mme.  de  Selinville. 

^' It  can  not  be  false,"  answered  Philip;  "he  told  me 
everything.  Things  he  could  not  have  known.  My  very 
home,  my  father's  house,  passed  in  review  before  that 
strange  little  blackamoor's  eyes;  where  I — though  I  would 
have  given  worlds  to  see  it — beheld  only  the  lamp  mirrored 
in  the  dark  pool." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  your  father's  house?"  said 
Berenger. 

"  I  could  not  doubt.  Just  to  test  the  fellow,  I  bade  him 
ask  for  my  native  ])l;ice.  Tlie  little  boy  gazed,  smiled,  bab- 
bled his  gibberisli,  pointed.  The  man  said  he  spoke  of  a 
fair  mansion  among  green  fields  and  hills,  '  a  grand  cava- 
lier cmhonpolnt' — those  were  his  very  words — at  the  door, 
with  a  tankard  in  one  hand.  Ah!  my  dear  father,  why 
couhl  not  I  see  him  too?  But  who  could  mistake  liim  or 
the  manor?" 

"  And  did  he  speak  of  future  as  well  as  past?"  said 
Diane. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  said  Philip,  with  more  agitation. 
"  Lady,  that  will  you  know  for  yourself. " 

"  It  was  not  dreadful?"  she  said,  rising. 

"  Oh  no;"  and  Philip  had  become  crimson^  and  hesitat- 
ed; "  certes,  not  dreadful.     But — I  must  not  say  more.  ■'* 

"  Save  good-night,"  said  Berenger,  rising.  "  See,  our 
gendarmes  are  again  looking  as  if  we  had  long  exceeded 
their  patience.  It  is  an  hour  later  than  we  are  wont  to  re- 
tire." 

"  If  it  be  your  desire  to  consult  this  mysterious  fellow 
now  you  have  heard  your  brother's  report,  my  dear  baron," 
said  the  chevalier,  "  the  gendarmes  may  devour  their  im- 
patience a  little  longer." 

"  Thanks,  sir,"  said  Berenger;  "but  I  am  not  tempt- 
ed," and  he  gave  the  usual  signal  to  the  gendarmes,  who, 


THE  CUAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  91 

during  meals,  used  to  stand  as  sentries  at  the  great  door  of 
the  hall. 

*'It  might  settle  your  mind/'  muttered  Philip,  hesitat- 
ing.    "  And  yet — yet — " 

But  he  used  no  persuasions,  and  permitted  himself  to  be 
escorted  with  his  brother  along  the  j^assages  to  their  own 
chamber,  where  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair  with  a  long 
sigh,  and  did  not  speak.  Berenger  meantime  opened  the 
Bible,  glanced  over  the  few  verses  he  meant  to  read,  found 
the  place  in  the  Prayer-book,  and  was  going  to  the  stairs  to 
call  Humfrey,  when  Philip  broke  forth:  "  Wait,  Berry; 
don't  be  in  such  haste." 

"  What,  you  want  time  to  lose  the  taste  of  your  dealings 
with  the  devil?"  said  Berenger,  smiling. 

"Pshaw!  no  devil  in  the  matter,"  testily  said  Philip. 
"  No,  I  was  only  wishing  you  had  not  had  a  Puritan  fit, 
and  seen  and  heard  for  yourself.  Then  I  should  not  have 
had  to  tell  you,"  and  he  sighed. 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  be  told,"  said  Berenger,  who  had 
become  more  fixed  in  the  conviction  that  it  was  an  im- 
posture. 

"  No  desire!  Ah!  I  had  none  when  I  knew  what  it  was. 
But  you  ought  to  know.  " 

"  Well,"  said  Berenger,  "  you  will  burst  anon  if  I  open 
not  my  ears." 

"  Dear  Berry,  speak  not  thus.  It  will  be  the  worse  for 
you  when  you  do  hear.  Alack,  Berenger,  all  ours  have 
been  vain  hopes.  I  asked  for  her — and  the  boy  fell  well- 
nigh  into  convulsions  of  terror  as  he  gazed;  spoke  of  flames 
and  falling  houses.  That  was  wherefore  I  pressed  you  not 
again — it  would  have  wrung  your  heart  too  much.  The 
boy  fairly  wept  and  writhed  himself,  crying  out  in  his 
tongue  for  pity  on  the  fair  lady  and  the  little  babe  in  the 
burning  house.  Alack!  brother,"  said  Pliilip,  a  little  hurt 
that  his  brother  had  not  changed  countenance. 

"  This  is  the  lying  tale  of  the  man-at-arms  which  our 
own  eyes  contradicted,"  said  Berenger;  "  and  no  doubt  was 
likewise  inspired  by  the  chevalier." 

"  See  the  boy,  brother!  How  should  he  have  heard  the 
chevalier?  Nay,  you  might  hug  your  own  belief,  but  it  is 
hard  that  we  should  botli  be  in  durance  for  your  mere 
dream  that  she  lives." 

"  Come,  Phil,  it  will  be  the  devil  indeed  that  sows  dis- 


93  THE  CHAPLET  C5  PEAELS. 

sension  between  us/^  said  Berenger.  "You  know  well 
enough  that  were  it  indeed  with  my  poor  Eustacie  as  they 
would  fain  have  us  believe,  rather  than  give  u])  her  fair 
name  I  would  rot  iu  prison  for  life.  Or  w^ould  you  have 
me  renounce  my  faith,  or  wed  Madame  de  Seliuville  upon 
the  witnesses  of  a  pool  of  ink  that  I  am  a  widower?^'  he 
added,  almost  laughing. 

"  For  that  matter,"  muttered  Philip,  a  good  deal 
ashamed  and  half  affronted,  "you  know  I  value  the  Prot- 
estant faith  so  that  I  never  heard  a  word  from  the  wily  old 
priest.  Nevertheless,  the  boy,  when  I  asked  of  our  release, 
saw  the  gates  set  open  by  Love. ' ' 

"  What  did  Love  look  like  in  the  pool?  Had  he  wings 
like  the  cupids  in  the  ballets  at  the  Louvre?"  asked  Be- 
renger provokingly. 

"  I  tell  you  I  saw  nothing,"  said  Philip  tartly:  "  this  was 
the  Italian's  interpretation  of  the  boy's  gesture.  It  was  to 
be  by  means  of  love,  he  said,  and  of  a  lady  who —  He 
made  it  plain  enough  who  she  was,"  added  the  boy,  color- 
ing. 

"  J^o  doubt,  as  the  chevalier  had  taught  him." 

"  You  have  prejudged,  and  are  deaf  to  all,"  said  Phihp. 
"  What,  could  the  chevalier  have  instructed  him  to  say 
that  I — I — "  he  hesitated,  "  that  my — my  love — I  mean 
that  he  saw  my  shield  per  pale  with  the  field  fretty  and  the 
sable  leopard. " 

"Oh!  it  is  to  be  my  daughter,  is  it?"  said  Berenger, 
laughing;  "  I  am  very  happy  to  entertain  your  proposals 
for  her." 

"  Berenger,  what  mocking  fiend  has  possessed  you?" 
cried  Philip,  half  angrily,  half  pitifully.  "How  can  you 
so  speak  of  that  poor  child?" 

"  Because  the  more  they  try  to  force  on  me  the  story  of 
her  fate,  the  plainer  it  is  to  me  that  they  do  not  believe  it.  I 
shall  find  her  yet,  and  then,  Phil,  you  shall  have  the  first 
chance. " 

Philip  growled. 

"Well,  Phil,"  said  his  brother,  good-humoredly,  "any 
way,  till  this  Love  comes  that  is  to  let  us  out,  don't  let 
Moor  or  fiend  come  between  us.  Let  me  keep  my  credence 
for  the  honest  bailli's  daughters  at  Lucon;  and  remember 
I  would  give  my  life  to  free  you,  but  I  can  not  give  away 
my  faith."     Philip  bent  his  head.    He  was  of  too  stubborn 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  93 

a  mold  to  express  contrition  or  affection,  but  he  mused  for 
five  minutes,  then  called  Humfrey,  and  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, as  the  heavy  tread  came  upstairs,  he  turned  round 
and  said,  "  You're  in  the  right  ou't  there,  Berry.  Hap 
what  hap,  the  foul  fiend  may  carry  off  the  conjurer  before 
I  murmur  at  you  again!  Still  I  wish  you  had  seen  him. 
Yon  would  know  'tis  sooth. " 

While  Berenger,  in  his  prison  chamber,  with  the  lamp- 
light beaming  on  his  high  white  brow  and  clear  eye,  stood 
before  his  two  comrades  in  captivity,  their  true-hearted 
faces  composed  to  reverence,  and  as  he  read,  "  I  have 
hated  them  that  hold  of  superstitious  vanities,  and  my  trust 
hath  been  in  the  Lord.  I  will  be  glad  and  rejoice  in  Thy 
mercy,  for  Thou  hast  considered  my  trouble  and  hast 
known  my  soul  in  adversities,"  feeling  that  here  was  the 
oracle  by  which  he  was  willing  to  abide — Diane  de  Selinville 
was  entering  the  cabinet  where  the  secrets  of  the  future 
were  to  be  unveiled. 

Theie  she  stood — the  beautiful  Court  lady — her  lace  coif 
(of  the  Mary  of  Scotland  type)  well  framed  the  beautiful 
oval  of  her  face,  and  set  off  the  clear  olive  of  her  complex- 
ion, softened  by  short  jetty  curls  at  the  temples,  and  light- 
ed by  splendid  dark  eyes,  and  by  the  smiles  of  a  perfect 
pair  of  lips.  A  transparent  veil  hung  back  over  the  ruff 
like  frost-work-formed  fairy  wings,  and  over  the  white  silk 
bodice  and  sleeves  laced  with  violet,  and  the  violet  skirt  that 
fell  in  ample  folds  on  the  ground;  only,  however,  in  the 
dim  light  revealing  by  an  occasional  gleam  that  it  was  not 
black.  It  was  a  stately  presence,  yet  withal  there  was  a 
tremor,  a  quiver  of  ti^e  downcast  eyelids,  and  a  trembling 
of  the  fair  hand,  as  ^ugh  she  were  ill  at  ease;  even  though 
it  was  by  no  means  the  first  time  she  had  trafficked  with 
the  dealers  in  mysterious  arts  who  swarmed  around  Cath- 
erine de  Medecis.  There  were  words  lately  uttered  that 
weighed  with  her  in  their  simplicity,  and  she  could  not  for- 
get them  in  that  gloomy  light,  as  she  gazed  on  the  brown 
face  of  the  Italian,  Ercole,  faultless  in  outline  as  a  classical 
mask,  but  the  black  depths  of  the  eyes  sparkling  with  in- 
tensity of  observation,  as  if  they  were  everywhere  at  once 
and  gazed  through  and  through.  He  wore  his  national 
dress,  with  the  short  cloak  over  one  shoulder;  but  the  little 
boy,  who  stood  at  the  table,  had  been  fastastically  arrayed 
in  a  sort  of  semi-Albanian  garb,  a  red  cap  with  a  long  tas- 


94  THE    CHATLET    OF    PEAllLS. 

sel;,  a  dark,  gold -embroidered  velvet  jacket  sitting  close  to 
his  body,  and  a  white  kilt  over  his  legs.,  bare  excejit  for 
buskins  stiff  with  gold.  The  poor  little  fellow  looked  pale 
in  spite  of  his  tawny  hue,  his  enormous  black  eyes  were 
heavy  and  weary,  and  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  keep  aloof 
from  the  small  brazen  vessel  formed  by  the  coils  of  two 
serpents  that  held  the  inky  liquid  of  which  Philip  had 
sjDoken. 

No  doubt  of  the  veritable  nature  of  the  charm  crossed 
Diane;  her  doubt  was  of  its  lawfulness,  her  dread  of  the 
su2)ernatural  region  she  was  invading.  She  hesitated  be- 
fore she  ventured  on  her  first  question,  and  started  as  the 
Italian  first  spoke — "  What  would  the  eccellentissima? 
Ladies  often  hesitate  to  speak  the  question  nearest  their 
hearts.  Yet  is  it  ever  the  same.  But  the  lady  must  be 
pleased  to  form  it  herself  in  words,  or  the  lad  will  not  see 
her  vision. ' ' 

"  Where,  then,  is  my  brother?^'  said  Diane,  still  re- 
luctant to  come  direct  to  the  point. 

The  boy  gazed  intently  into  the  black  pool,  his  great  eyes 
dilating  till  they  seemed  like  black  wells,  and  after  a  long- 
time, that  Diane  could  have  counted  by  the  throbs  of  her 
heart,  he  began  to  close  his  fingers,  perform  the  action 
over  the  other  arm  of  one  jjlaying  on  the  lute,  throw  his 
head  back,  close  his  eyes,  and  appear  to  be  singing  a  lul- 
laby.    Then  he  spoke  a  few  words  to  his  master  quickly. 

"He  sees, '^  said  Ercole,  "a  gentleman  touching  the 
lute,  seated  in  a  bedroom,  where  lies,  on  a  rich  pillow, 
another  gentleman  " — and  as  the  boy  stroked  his  face,  and 
pointed  to  his  hands — "  wearing  a  nia«k  and  gloves.  It  is, 
he  says,  in  my  own  land,  in  Italy,^ijtnd  as  the  boy  made 
the  action  of  rowing,  "  in  the  territory  of  Venice. '^ 

"It  is  well,"  said  Mme.  de  Selinville,  m4io  knew  that 
nothing  was  more  probable  than  that  her  brother  should  be 
playing  the  king  to  liis  slee}!  in  the  medicated  mask  and 
gloves  that  cherished  the  royal  complexion,  and,  moreover, 
that  Henry  was  lingering  to  take  his  pastime  in  Italy  to  the 
great  inconvenience  of  his  kingdom. 

Her  next  question  came  nearer  her  heart — "  You  saw  the 
gentleman  with  a  scar.     Will  he  leave  this  castle?" 

The  boy  gazed,  then  made  gestures  of  throwing  his  arms 
wide,  and  of  passing  out;  and  as  he  added  his  few  words, 
the  master  explained:  "  He  sees  the  gentleman  leaving  the 


THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  95 

castle,  through  open  gate,  in  full  day,  on  horseback;  and 
— and  it  is  madame  who  is  with  them,"  he  added,  as  the 
lad  pointed  decidedly  to  her,  "it  is  madame  who  opens 
their  prison/' 

Diane's  face  lighted  with  gladness  for  a  moment;  then 
she  said,  faltering  (most  women  of  her  day  would  not  have 
been  even  thus  reserved),  "  Then  I  shall  marry  again?" 

The  boy  gazed  and  knitted  his  brow;  then,  without  any 
pantomime,  looked  up  and  spoke.  "  The  eccellentissima 
shall  be  a  bride  once  more,  he  says,'*  explained  the  man, 
"  but  after  a  sort  he  can  not  understand.  It  is  exhaust- 
ing,-lady,  thus  to  gaze  into  the  invisible  future;  the  boy 
becomes  confused  and  exhausted  ere  long. " 

"  Once  more — I  will  only  ask  of  the  past.  My  cousin,  is 
he  married  or  a  widower?" 

The  boy  clasped  his  hands  and  looked  imploringly,  shak- 
ing his  head  at  the  dark  pool,  as  ho  muttered  an  entreating 
word  to  his  master.  "Ah!  madame,"  said  the  Italian, 
"  that  question  hath  already  been  demanded  by  the  young 
Inglese.  The  poor  child  has  been  so  terrified  by  the  scene 
it  called  up,  that  he  imijlores  he  may  not  see  it  again.  A 
sacked  and  burning  town,  a  lady  in  a  flaming  house — " 

"  Enough,  enough,"  said  Diane;  "  I  could  as  little  bear 
to  hear  as  he  to  see.  It  is  w^hat  we  have  ever  known  and 
feared.  And  now  " — she  blushed  as  she  S23oke — "  sir,  you 
will  leave  me  one  of  those  j)otions  that  Signer  Renato  is 
wont  to  compound. " 

"  Capisco !"  said  Ercole,  with  a  rapid  motion  of  his 
head. 

"  It  must  be  such,"  added  Diane,  "  as  can  be  disguised 
in  she/bet  or  milk.  All  hitherto  have  failed,  as  the  person 
in  question  tastes  no  wine." 

"  It  wall  take  a  more  refined  preparation-r-a  subtler  es- 
sence," returned  Ercole;  "but  the  eccellentissima  shall 
be  obeyed  if  she  will  supply  the  means,  for  the  expenses 
will  be  heavy. " 

The  bargain  was  agreed  upon,  and  a  considerable  sum 
advanced  for  a  philter,  compounded  of  strange  Eastern 
plants  and  mystic  jewels;  and  then  Diane,  with  a  shudder 
of  relief,  passed  into  the  full  light  of  the  hall,  bade  her 
father  good -night,  and  was  handed  by  him  into  the  litter 
that  had  long  been  awaiting  her  at  the  door. 

The  chevalier,  then,  with  care  on  his  brow,  bent  his  steps 


96  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

toward  the  ajoartment  where  the  Italian  still  remained 
counting  the  money  he  had  received. 

"So!"  he  said  as  he  entered,  '"  so,  fellow,  I  Jiave  not 
hindered  your  gains,  and  you  have  been  true  to  your  agree- 
ment?'' 

"  Illustrissimo,  yes.  The  pool  of  vision  mirrored  the 
flames,  but  nothing  beyond — nothing — nothing." 

"  They  asked  you  then  no  more  of  those  words  you  threw 
out  of  Esperance?" 

"  Only  the  English  youth,  sir;  and  there  were  plenty  of 
other  hopes  to  dance  before  the  eyes  of  such  a  lad !  With 
Monsieur  le  Baron  it  will  be  needful  to  be  more  guarded. " 

"  Monsieur  le  Baron  shall  not  have  the  oj^portunity,'^ 
said  the  chevalier.  "  He  may  abide  by  his  decision,  and 
what  the  younger  one  may  tell  him.  Fear  not,  good  man, 
it  shall  be  made  good  to  you,  if  you  obey  my  commands. 
I  have  other  work  for  you.  But  first  repeat  to  me  more 
fully  what  you  told  me  before.  Where  was  it  that  you  saw 
this  unhajjpy  girl  under  the  name  of  Esperance?" 

"  At  a  hostel,  sir,  at  Charente,  where  she  was  attending 
on  an  old  heretic  teacher  of  the  name  of  Gardon,  who  had 
fallen  sick  there,  being  pinched  by  the  fiend  with  rheumatic 
pains  after  his  deserts.  She  bore  the  name  of  Esperance 
Gardon,  and  2)assed  for  his  son's  widow." 

"  And  by  what  means  did  you  know  her  not  to  be  the 
mean  creature  she  pretended?"  said  the  chevalier,  with  a 
gesture  of  scornful  horror. 

"  Illustrissimo,  I  never  forget  a  face.  I  have  seen  this 
lady  with  Monsieur  le  Baron  when  they  made  purchases  of 
various  trinkets  at  Montpipeau;  and  I  saw  her  fully  again. 
I  had  the  honor  to  purchase  from  her  certain  jewels,  that 
the  eccellenza  will  probably  redeem;  and  even — pardon, 
sir — I  cut  oft'  and  bought  of  her  her  hair." 

"  Her  hair!"  exclaimed  the  chevalier,  in  horror.  "  The 
miserable  girl  to  have  fallen  so  low!  Is  it  with  you,  fel- 
low?" 

"  Surely,  illustrissimo.  Such  tresses — so  shining,  so 
silky,  so  well  kejjt — I  reserved  to  adorn  the  heads  of  Signor 
Eenato's  most  princely  customers,"  said  the  man,  unpack- 
ing from  the  inmost  recesses  of  one  of  his  most  ingeniously 
arranged  jjackages  a  parcel  which  contained  the  rich  mass 
of  beautiful  black  tresses.  "Ah!  her  head  looked  so 
noble,"  he  added,  "  that  I  felt  it  profane  to  let  my  scissors 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  97 

touch  those  locks;  but  she  said  she  could  never  wear  them 
openly  more,  and  that  they  did  but  take  up  her  time,  and 
were  useless  to  her  child  and  her  father — as  she  called  him; 
and  she  much  needed  the  medicaments  for  the  old  man 
that  I  gave  her  in  exchange. " 

"  Heavens!  A  daughter  of  Ribaumont!'*  sighed  the 
chevalier,  clinching  his  hand.  "And  now,  man,  let  me 
see  the  jewels  with  which  the  besotted  child  parted. " 

The  jewels  were  not  many,  nor  remarkable.  JSTo  one  but 
a  member  of  the  family  would  have  identified  them,  and 
not  one  of  the  pearls  was  there;  and  the  chevalier  refrained 
from  inquiring  after  them,  lest  by  putting  the  Italian  on 
the  scent  of  anything  so  exceptionally  valuable,  he  should 
defeat  his  own  object,  and  lead  to  the  man's  securing  the 
pearls  and  running  away  with  them.  But  Ercole  under- 
stood his  glance,  with  the  quickness  of  a  man  whose  trade 
forced  him  to  read  countenances.  "  The  eccellenza  is 
looking  for  the  pearls  of  Ribaumont?  The  lady  made  no 
offer  of  them  to  me. " 

"  Do  you  believe  that  she  has  them  still?" 

*'  I  am  certain  of  it,  sir.  I  know  that  she  has  jewels — 
though  she  said  not  what  they  were — wliich  she  preserved 
at  the  expense  of  her  hair.  It  was  thus.  The  old  man 
had,  it  seems,  been  for  weeks  on  the  rack  with  pains  caught 
by  a  chill  wlien  they  fled  from  La  Sablerie,  and,  though 
the  fever  had  left  him,  he  was  still  so  stiff  in  the  joints  as 
to  be  unable  to  move.  I  prescribed  for  him  unguents  of 
balm  and  Indian  spice,  which,  as  the  eccellenza  knows  are 
worth  far  more  than  their  weight  in  gold;  nor  did  these 
jewels  make  up  the  cost  of  these,  together  with  the  M'arm 
cloak  for  him,  and  the  linen  for  her  child  that  she  had 
been  purchasing.  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  babe  must  have  no 
linen  but  the  finest  fabric  of  Cambrai — yes,  and  even  carna- 
tion-colored ribbons— though,  for  herself,  I  saw  the  home- 
spun she  was  sewing.  As  she  mused  over  what  she  could 
throw  back,  I  asked  if  she  had  no  other  gauds  to  make  up 
the  price,  and  she  said,  almost  within  herself,  '  They  are 
my  child's,  not  mine.'  Then  remembering  that  I  had 
been  buying  the  hair  of  the  peasant  maidens,  she  suddenly 
offered  me  her  tresses.  But  I  could  yet  secure  the  pearls, 
if  eccellenza  would. " 

"  Do  you  then  believe  her  to  be  in  any  positive  want  or 
distress?"  said  the  chevalier. 

4-yd  half 


98  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

"'  Signer,  no.  The  heretical  households  among  whom 
she  travels  gladly  support  the  families  of  their  teachers,  and 
at  Catholic  inns  they  pay  their  way.  I  understood  them  to 
be  on  their  way  to  a  synod  of  Satan  at  that  nest  of  heretics, 
Montauban,  where  doubtless  the  old  miscreant  would  obtain 
an  appointment  to  some  village.'^ 

"  When  did  you  thus  fall  in  with  them?" 

"  It  was  on  one  of  the  days  of  the  week  of  Pentecost,'^ 
said  Ercole.  "  It  is  at  that  time  I  frequent  fairs  in  those 
parts,  to  gather  my  little  harvest  on  tlie  maidens'  heads." 

"  ParUeu  !  class  not  my  niece  with  those  sordid  beings, 
man,"  said  the  chevalier,  angrily.  "  Here  is  your  jorice  " 
■ — tossing  a  heavy  i3urse  on  the  table — "  and  as  much  more 
shall  await  you  when  you  bring  me  sure  intelligence  where 
to  tind  my  niece.  You  understand;  and  mark,  not  one 
word  of  the  gentleman  you  saw  here.  You  say  she  believes 
him  dead?'' 

"  The  illustrissimo  must  remember  that  she  never 
dropped  her  disguise  with  me,  but  I  fully  think  that  she 
supposes  herself  a  widow.  And  I  understand  the  eccel- 
lenza,  she  is  still  to  think  so.     I  may  be  depended  on. " 

"You  understand,"  repeated  the  chevalier,  "this  sun 
shall  reward  you  when  you  have  informed  me  where  to  fine 
her — as  a  man  like  you  can  easily  trace  her  from  Montau- 
ban. If  you  have  any  traffickings  with  her,  it  shall  bb 
made  worth  your  while  to  secure  the  pearls  for  the  family: 
but,  remember,  the  first  object  is  herself,  and  that  she 
should  be  ignorant  of  the  existence  of  him  whom  she  fan- 
cied her  husband." 

"  I  see,  signer;  and  not  a  word,  of  course,  of  my  having 
come  from  you.  I  will  discover  her,  and  leave  her  noble 
family  to  deal  with  her.  Has  the  illustrissimo  any  further 
commands?" 

"  None,"  began  the  chevalier;  then,  suddenly,  "  This 
unhappy  infant — is  it  healthy?  Hid  it  need  any  of  your 
treatment?" 

"  Signor,  no.  It  was  a  fair,  healthy  bambina  of  a  year 
old,  and  I  heard  the  mother  boasting  that  it  had  never  had 
a  day's  illness." 

"  Ah,  the  less  a  child  has  to  do  in  the  world,  the  more  is 
it  bent  on  living,"  said  the  chevalier  with  a  sigh;  and  then, 
with  a  jDarting  greeting,  he  dismissed  the  Italian,  but  only 
to  sup  under  the  careful  surveillance  of  the  steward,  and 


TH"E    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  99 

then  to  be  conveyed  by  early  morning  light  beyond  the  ter- 
ritory where  the  affairs  of  Ribaumont  were  interesting. 

But  the  chevalier  went  through  a  sleepless  night.  Long- 
did  he  pace  up  and  down  his  chamber,  grind  his  teeth, 
clinch  his  fists  and  point  them  at  his  head,  and  make 
gestures  of  tearing  his  thin  gray  locks;  and  many  a  military 
oath  did  he  swear  under  his  breath  as  he  thought  to  what  a 
pass  things  had  come.  His  brother's  daughter  waiting  on 
an  old  Huguenot  bourgeois,  making  sugar-cakes,  selhng 
her  hair!  and  what  next?  Here  was  she  alive  after  all, 
alive  and  disgracing  herself;  alive — yes,  both  she  and  her 
husband — to  jjerplex  the  chevalier,  and  force  him  either  to 
new  crimes  or  to  beggar  his  son  I  AVhy  could  not  the  one 
have  really  died  on  the  St.  Bartholomew,  or  the  other  at 
La  Sablerie,  instead  of  2:)utting  the  jjoor  chevalier  in  the 
wrong  by  coming  to  life  again? 

What  had  he  done  to  be  thus  forced  to  peril  his  soul  at 
his  age?  Ah,  had  he  but  known  what  he  should  bring  on 
himself  when  he  wrote  the  unlucky  letter,  pretending  that 
the  silly  little  child  wished  to  dissolve  the  marriage!  How 
should  he  have  known  that  the  lad  would  come  meddling 
over?  And  then,  when  he  had  dexterously  brought  about 
that  each  should  be  offended  with  the  other,  and  consent  to 
the  separation,  why  must  royalty  step  in  and  throw  them 
together  again?  Yes,  and  he  surely  had  a  right  to  feel  ill- 
used,  since  it  was  in  ignorance  of  the  ratification  of  the 
marriage  that  he  had  arranged  the  frustration  of  the  elope- 
ment, and  that  he  had  forced  on  the  wedding  with  Narcisse, 
so  as  to  drive  Eustacie  to  flight  fi'om  the  convent — in  igno- 
rance again  of  her  living  that  he  had  imprisoned  Berenger, 
and  tried  to  buy  off  his  claims  to  Nid-de-Merle  with  Diane's 
hand.  Circumstances  had  used  him  cruelly,  and  he  shrunk 
from  fairly  contemplating  the  next  step. 

He  knew  well  enough  what  it  must  be.  Without  loss  of 
time  a  letter  must  be  sent  to  Rome,  backed  by  strong  in- 
terest, so  as  to  make  it  appear  that  the  ceremony  at  Mont- 
pipeau,  irregular,  and  between  a  Huguenot  and  Catholic, 
had  been  a  defiance  of  the  Papal  decree,  and  must  therefore 
be  nullified.  This  would  probably  be  attainable,  though 
he  did  not  feel  absolutely  secure  of  it.  Pending  this, 
Eustacie  must  be  secluded  in  a  convent;  and,  while  still 
believing  herself  a  widows  must,  immediately  on  the  arrival 
of  the  decree  and  dispensation,  be  forced  into  the  marriage 


100  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEAHLS. 

with  Narcisse  before  she  heard  of  Berenger's  being  still 
alive.  And  then  Berenger  would  have  no  longer  any  ex- 
cuse for  holding  out.  His  claims  would  be  disposed  of, 
and  he  might  be  either  sent  to  England,  or  he  might  be 
won  upon  by  Mme.  de  Selinville's  constancy. 

And  this,  as  the  chevalier  believed,  was  the  only  chance 
of  saving  a  life  that  he  was  unwilling  to  sacrifice,  for  his 
captive's  patience  and  courtesy  had  gained  so  much  upon 
his  heart  that  he  was  resolved  to  do  all  that  shuffling  and 
temporizing  could  do  to  save  the  lad  from  Narcisse's  hatred 
and  to  secure  him  Diane's  love. 

As  to  telling  the  truth  aud  arranging  his  escape,  that 
scarcely  ever  crossed  the  old  man's  mind.  It  would  have 
been  to  resign  the  lands  of  Nid-de-Merle,  to  return  to  the 
makeshift  life  he  knew  but  too  well,  and,  what  was  worse, 
to  ruin  and  degrade  his  son,  and  inciu'  his  resentment.  It 
would  probably  be  easy  to  obtain  a  promise  from  Berenger, 
in  his  first  joy  and  gratitude,  of  yielding  up  all  pretensions 
of  his  own  or  his  wife's;  but,  however  honorably  meant, 
such  a  promise  would  be  worth  very  little,  and  would  be 
utterly  scorned  by  Narcisse.  Besides,  how  could  he  thwart 
the  love  of  his  daughter  and  the  ambition  of  his  son  both  at 
once? 

No;  the  only  security  for  the  possession  of  Nid -de-Merle 
lay  in  either  the  death  of  the  young  baron  and  his  child, 
or  else  in  his  acquiescence  in  the  invalidity  of  his  marriage, 
and  therefore  in  the  illegitimacy  of  the  child. 

And  it  was  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that,  in  his 
seclusion,  he  might  at  length  learn  to  believe  in  the  story 
of  the  destruction  of  La  Sablerie,  and,  wearying  of  cajjtivity, 
might  yield  at  length  to  the  j^ersuasions  of  Diane  and  her 
father,  and  become  so  far  involved  vyith  them  as  to  be  un- 
able to  draw  back,  or  else  be  so  stung  by  Eustacie's  deser- 
tion as  to  accej)t  her  rival  willingly. 

It  was  a  forlorn  hope,  but  it  was  the  only  medium  that 
lay  between  either  the  death  or  the  release  of  the  captive; 
and  therefore  the  old  man  clung  to  it  as  almost  praise- 
worthy, and  did  his  best  to  bring  it  about  by  keeping  his 
daughter  ignorant  that  Eustacie  lived,  and  writing  to  his 
son  that  the  baron  was  on  the  j^oint  of  becoming  a  Catholic 
and  marrying  his  sister:  and  thus  that  all  family  danger 
and  scandal  would  be  avoided,  provided  the  matter  were 
properly  represented  at  Rome. 


IHB    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  lOi 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

*'JAM   satis/' 

You  may  go  walk,  and  give  me  leave  awhile, 
My  lessons  make  no  music  in  three  parts. 

Taming  of  (he  Shrew. 

Whether  the  dark  pool  really  showed  Sir  Marmad  uke 
Tliistiewood  or  not,  at  the  moment  that  his  son  desired  tliat 
his  image  shoidd  be  called  up,  the  good  knight  was,  in 
effect,  sitting  nodding  over  the  tankard  of  sack  with  which 
his  sujiper  was  always  concluded,  while  the  rest  of  the 
family,  lured  out  of  the  sunny  hall  by  the  charms  of  a  fresh 
summer  evening,  had  dispersed  into  the  gardens  or  hall. 

Presently  a  movement  in  the  neighborhood  made  him 
think  it  incumbent  on  him  to  oj^en  his  eyes  wide,  and  ex- 
claim, "  I'm  not  asleep." 

"  Oh  no!  you  never  are  asleep  when  there's  anything  you 
ought  to  see!"  returned  Dame  Annora,  who  was  standing 
by  him  with  her  hand  on  his  chair. 

"  How  now?    Any  tidings  of  the  lads?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Of  the  lads?  No,  indeed;  but  there  will  be  bad  tidings 
for  the  lads  if  yon  do  not  see  to  it!  Where  do  you  think 
your  daughter  is,  Sir  Duke?" 

"  Where?  How  should  I  know?  She  went  out  to  give 
her  sisters  some  strawberries,  I  thought. " 

"  See  here,"  said  Lady  Thistlewood,  leading  the  way  to 
the  north  end  of  the  hall,  where  a  door  opened  into  what 
was  called  the  Yew-tree  Grove.  This  consisted  of  five  rows 
of  yew-trees,  planted  at  regular  intervals,  and  their  natural 
mode  of  growth  so  interfei-ed  with  by  constant,  cutting, 
that  their  ruddy  trunks  had  been  obliged  to  rise  branchless, 
till  about  twelve  feet  above  ground  they  had  been  allowed 
to  spread  out  their  limbs  in  the  form  of  ordinary  forest- 
trees;  and,  altogether,  their  foliage  became  a  thick,  un- 
broken, dark,  evergreen  roof,  impervious  to  sunshine,  and 
almost  impervious  to  rain,  while  btlow  their  trunks  were 
like  columns  forming  five  arcades,  floored  only  by  that 
dark  red  crusty  earth  and  green  lichen  growth  that  seems 
peculiar  to  the  shelter  of  yew-trees.  The  depth  of  the 
shade  and   the   stillness  of  the  place  made  it  something 


102  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

peculiarly  soothing  and  quiet,  more  especially  when,  as  now, 
the  sunset  light  came  below  the  branches,  richly  tinted  the 
russet  pillars,  cast  long  shadows,  and  gleamed  into  all  the 
recesses  of  the  interlacing  boughs  and  polished  leafage 
above. 

"  Do  you  see.  Sir  Duiie?"  demanded  his  lady. 

"I  see  my  little  maids  making  a  rare  feast  under  the 
trees  upon  their  strawberries  set  out  on  leaves.  Bless  their 
little  hearts!  what  a  pretty  fairy  feast  they've  made  of  it, 
with  the  dogs  looking  on  as  grave  as  judges!  It  makes  me 
young  again  to  get  a  smack  of  the  hautbois  your  mother 
brought  from  Chelsea  Gardens." 

"  Hautbois!  He'd  never  see  if  the  house  were  afire 
overhead.     What's  that  beyond?" 

"  No  fire,  my  dear,  but  the  sky  all  aglow  with  sunset, 
and  the  red  cow  standing  up  against  the  light,  chewing  her 
cud,  and  looking  as  well  pleased  as  though  she  knew  there 
wasn't  her  match  in  Dorset." 

•  Lady  Thistlewood  fairly  stamped,  and  pointed  with  her 
fan,  like  a  jDistol,  down  a  side  aisle  of  the  grove,  where  two 
figures  were  slowly  moving  along. 

'*  Ell!  what?  Lucy  with  her  apron  full  of  rose-leaves, 
letting  them  float  away  while  she  cons  the  children's  lesson 
for  the  morrow  with  Merrycourt?  They  be  no  great  loss, 
when  the  jjlace  is  full  of  roses.  Or  why  could  you  not  call 
to  the  wench  to  take  better  heed  to  them,  instead  of  mak- 
ing all  this  pother?" 

"  A  pretty  sort  of  lesson  it  is  like  to  be!  A  pretty  sort 
of  return  for  my  poor  son,  unless  you  take  the  better 
heed!" 

"  Would  that  I  saw  any  return  at  all  for  either  of  the 
poor  dear  lads,"  sighed  the  knight  wearily;  *'  but  what 
you  may  be  driving  at  I  can  not  perceive." 

"What!  When  'tis  before  your  very  eyes,  how  yonder 
smooth-tongued  French  impostor,  after  luring  him  back  to 
his  ruin  beyond  seas,  is  supplanting  him  even  here,  and 
your  daughter  giving  herself  over  to  the  wily  viper!" 

"  The  man  is  a  Popish  priest,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke; 
"  no  more  given  to  love  than  Mr.  Adderley  or  Friar 
liogers." 

The  dame  gave  a  snort  of  derision:  "  Prithee,  how  many 
Popish  priests  be  now  wedded  parsons?  Nor,  indeed,  even 
if  his  story  be  true,  do  I  believe  he  is  a  priest  at  all.     I 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  103 

have  seen  many  a  young  abbe,  as  they  call  themselves,  clerk 
only  in  name,  loitering  at  court,  free  to  throw  off  the  cas- 
sock any  moment  they  chose,  and  as  insolent  as  the  rest. 
Why,  the  Abbe  de  Lorraine,  cardinal  that  is  now,  said  of 
my  complexion — " 

"  No  vows,  quotha!"  muttered  Sir  Marmaduke,  well 
aware  of  the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine's  opinion  of  his  lady's 
complexion.  "  So  much  the  better;  he  is  too  good  a  young 
fellow  to  be  forced  to  moi^e  single,  and  yet  I  hate  men's 
breaking  their  word." 

"  And  that's  all  you  have  to  say!"  angrily  cried  her  lady- 
ship. *'  No  one  save  myself  ever  thinks  how  it  is  to  be  with 
my  poor  dear  wounded,  heart-broken  son,  when  he  comes 
home,  to  find  himself  so  scurvily  used  by  that  faithless  girl 
of  yours,  ready — ' ' 

"  Hold,  madame,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  with  real  stern- 
ness; "  nothing  rash  against  my  daughter.  How  should  she 
be  faithless  to  a  man  who  had  been  wedded  ever  since  she 
knew  him?" 

"  He  is  free  now,"  said  Lady  Thistle  wood,  beginning  to 
cry  (for  the  last  letters  received  from  Berenger  had  been 
those  from  Paris,  while  he  still  believed  Eustacie  to  have 
perished  at  La  Sablerie);  "  and  I  do  say  it  is  very  hard  that 
just  when  he  is  rid  of  the  French  baggage,  the  bane  of  his 
life,  and  is  coming  home,  may  be  with  a  child  upon  his 
hands,  and  all  wounded,  scarred,  and  blurred,  the  only 
wench  he  would  or  should  have  married  should  throw  her- 
self away  on  a  French  vagabond  beggar,  and  you  aiding 
and  abetting. " 

"  Come,  come,  Dame  Nan,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  "  who 
told  you  I  was  aiding  and  abetting?" 

"  Tell  me  not.  Sir  Duke,  you  that  see  them  a  courting 
under  your  very  eyes,  and  will  not  stir  a  finj.  er  to  hinder 
it.  If  you  like  to  see  your  daughter  take  up  v,  ith  a  foreign 
adventurer,  why,  she's  no  child  of  mine,  th  uik  Heaven! 
and  I've  naught  to  do  with  it." 

"  Pshaw,  dame,  there's  no  taking  up  in  tlr  case;  and  if 
there  were,  sure  it  is  not  you  that  should  be  hii  d  on  Lucy." 

Whereupon  Annora  fell  into  such  a  flood  of  tears  at  the 
cruelty  of  casting  such  things  up  to  her,  that  Sir  Marma- 
duke was  fain  in  his  blundering  way  to  declare  that  he  only 
meant  that  an  honest  Englishman  had  no  chance  where  a 
Frenchman  once  came  in,  and  then  very  nearly  to  sur- 


104  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

render  at  discretion.  At  any  rate,  he  escaped  from  her 
tears  by  going  out  at  the  door,  and  caUing  to  Lucy  to  mind 
her  rose-leaves;  then,  as  she  ga^.ed  round,  dismayed  at  the 
pink  track  along  the  ground,  he  asked  her  what  she  had 
been  doing.  Whereto  she  answered  with  bright  face  and 
honest  eyes,  that  Mr.  Mericonr  had  been  going  over  with 
her  the  ode  "  Jam  satis,''  of  Horatius,  wherewith  to  pre- 
pare little  Nan  for  him  to-morrow,  and  then  she  ran  hur- 
riedly away  to  secure  the  remainder  of  the  rose-leaves,  while 
her  companion  was  already  on  his  knees  picking  up  the 
petals  she  had  drojjped. 

"  Master  Merry  court,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  a  little 
gruffly,  "  never  heed  the  flower-leaves.  I  want  a  word 
with  you. '' 

Claude  de  Mericour  rose  hastily,  as  if  somewhat  struck 
by  the  tone. 

' '  The  matter  is  this, "  said  the  knight,  leading  him  from 
the  house,  and  signing  back  the  little  girls  who  had  sprung 
toward  them — "  it  has  been  brought  to  mind  that  you  are 
but  a  youth,  and,  pardon  me,  my  young  master,  but  when 
lads  and  lasses  have  their  heads  together  over  one  book, 
tongues  wag." 

The  color  rushed  hotly  into  young  Mericour's  face,  and 
he  answered  quickly,  "  My  rank — I  mean  my  order — 
should  answer  that." 

"  Stay,  young  man,  we  are  not  in  France;  your  order,  be 
it  what  it  may,  has  not  hindered  many  a  marriage  in  Eng- 
land; though,  look  you,  no  man  should  ever  wed  with  my 
consent  who  broke  his  word  to  God  in  so  doing;  but  they 
tell  me  your  vows  are  not  always  made  at  your  age. " 

"  Nor  are  they,"  exclaimed  Mericour,  in  a  low  voice, 
but  with  a  sudden  light  on  his  countenance.  "  The  ton- 
sure was  given  me  as  a  child,  and  no  vow  of  celibacy  has 
passed  my  lips. " 

Sir  Marmaduke  exclaimed,  "  Oh! — "  with  a  prolongation 
of  the  sound  that  lasted  till  Mericour  began  again. 

"  But,  sir,  let  tongues  wag  as  they  will,  it  is  for  naught. 
Your  fair  daughter  was  but  as  ever  preparing  beforehand 
with  me  the  tasks  with  which  she  so  kindly  indoctrinates 
her  little  sisters.  I  never  thought  of  myself  as  aught  but 
a  religious,  and  should  never  dream  of  human  love." 

^'  I  thought  so!  I  said  so!"  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  highly 
gratified.     ' '  I  knew  you  were  an  honorable  man  that  would 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS.  105 

never  speak  of  love  to  my  daughter  by  stealth,  nor  without 
means  to  maintain  her  after  her  birth. " 

The  word  ''  birth  "  brought  the  blood  into  the  face  of 
the  son  of  the  peer  of  France,  but  he  merely  bowed  with 
considerable  stiffness  and  pride,  saying,  ' '  You  did  m  e 
justice,  sir." 

"  Come,  don't  be  hurt,  man,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke, 
putting  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  told  you  I  knew  yon 
for  an  honorable  man!  You'll  be  over  here  to-morrow  to 
hear  the  little  maids  their  'Jam  satis,' or  whatever  you 
call  it,  and  dine  with  us,  after  to  taste  Lucy's  handiwork  in 
jam  cranberry,  a  better  thing  as  I  take  it. " 

Mericour  had  recovered  himself,  smiled,  shook  the  good 
Sir  Marmaduke's  proffered  hand,  and,  begging  to  excuse 
himself  from  bidding  good-night  to  the  ladies  on  the  score 
of  lateness,  he  walked  away  to  cross  the  downs  on  his  re- 
turn to  Combe  Walwyn,  where  he  was  still  resident,  accord- 
ing to  the  arrangement  by  which  he  was  there  to  await 
Berenger's  return,  now  deferred  so  much  beyond  all  reason- 
able expectation. 

Sir  Marmaduke,  with  a  free  heart,  betook  himself  to  the 
house,  dreading  to  find  that  Lucv  had  fallen  under  the 
objurgations  of  her  step-mother,  but  feeling  imj^elled  to 
stand  her  protector,  and  guided  to  the  spot  by  the  high 
key  of  Dame  Annora's  voice. 

He  found  Lucy — who,  on  the  rare  occasions  when  good- 
natured  Lady  Tliistlewood  was  really  angry  W'ith  her,  usu- 
ally cowered  meekly — now  standing  her  gromid,  and  while 
the  dame  was  pausing  for  breath,  he  heard  her  gentle  voice 
answering  steadily,  "  No,  madame,  to  him  I  could  never 
owe  faith,  nor  troth,  nor  love,  save  such  as  I  have  for 
PhiHp." 

"  Then  it  is  very  unfeeling  and  ungrateful  of  you.  Nor 
did  you  think  so  once,  but  it  is  all  his  scars  and — " 

By  this  time  Sir  Marmaduke  had  come  near  enough  to 
put  his  arm  round  his  daughter,  and  say,  "  No  such  thing, 
Dame.  It  had  been  unseemly  in  the  lass  had  it  been  other- 
wise. She  is  a  good  girl  and  a  discreet;  and  the  French- 
man, if  he  has  made  none  of  their  vows,  feels  as  bound  as 
though  he  had.  He's  an  honest  fellow,  thinking  of  his 
studies,  and  not  of  ladies  or  any  such  trumpery.  So  give 
me  a  kiss,  Lucy  girl,  and  thou  shalt  study  '  Jam  satis,'  or 
any  other  jam  he  pleases,  without  more  to  vex  thee." 


106  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

Lucy,  now  that  the  warfare  was  over,  had  begun  to  weep 
so  profusely  that  so  soon  as  her  father  released  her,  she 
turned,  made  a  mute  gesture  to  ask  permission  to  depart, 
and  hurried  away;  while  Lady  Thistlewood,  who  disliked 
above  all  that  her  husband  should  think  her  harsh  to  her 
step-children,  began  to  relate  the  exceeding  tenderness  of 
the  remonstrance  which  had  been  followed  with  such  dis- 
proportionate floods  of  tears. 

Poor  Sir  Marmaduke  hoped  at  least  that  the  veil  of  night 
had  put  an  end  to  the  subject  which  harassed  him  at  a  time 
when  he  felt  less  capable  thau  usual  of  bearing  vexation, 
for  he  was  yearning  sadly  after  his  only  son.  The  youths 
had  been  absent  ten  months,  and  had  not  been  heard  of 
for  more  than  three,  when  they  were  just  leaving  Paris  in 
search  of  the  infant.  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  whose  em- 
bassy had  ended  with  the  death  of  Charles  IX.,  knew  noth- 
ing of  them,  and  great  apprehensions  respecting  them  were 
beginning  to  jDrevail,  and,  to  Sir  Marmaduke  especially, 
seemed  to  be  eating  out  the  peace  and  joy  of  his  life. 
Philip,  always  at  his  father's  side  ever  since  he  could  run 
alone,  was  missed  at  every  visit  to  stable  or  kennel;  the  ring 
of  his  cheery  voice  was  wanting  to  the  house;  and  the 
absence  of  his  merry  whistle  seemed  to  make  Sir  Marma- 
duke's  heart  sink  like  lead  as  he  donned"  his  heavy  boots, 
and  went  forth  in  the  silver  dew  of  the  summer  morning  to 
judge  which  of  his  corn-fields  would  soonest  be  ready  for  the 
sickle.  Until  this  expedition  of  his  sons  he  had,  for  more 
than  fourteen  years,  never  been  alone  in  those  morning 
rounds  on  his  farm;  and  much  as  he  loved  his  daughters, 
they  seemed  to  weigh  very  light  in  the  scale  compared  with 
the  sturdy  heir  who  loved  every  acre  with  his  own  ancestral 
love.  Indeed,  perhaps.  Sir  Marmaduke  had  a  deeper, 
fonder  affection  for  the  children  of  his  first  marriage,  be- 
cause he  had  barely  been  able  to  give  his  full  heart  to  their 
mother  before  she  was  taken  from  him,  and  he  had  felt 
almost  double  tenderness  to  be  due  to  them,  when  he  at 
length  obtained  his  first  and  only  true  love.  Now,  as  he 
looked  over  the  shining  billows  of  the  waving  barley,  his 
heart  was  very  sore  with  longing  for  Philip's  gladsome  shout 
at  the  harvest-field,  and  he  thought  with  surprise  and  com- 
punction how  he  had  seen  Lucy  leave  him  struggling  with 
a  flood  of  tears.  While  he  was  still  thus  gazing,  a  head 
appeared  in  the  narrow  path  that  led  across  the  fields,  and 


'  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  107 

presently  he  recognized  the  slender,  upright  form  of  the 
young  Frenchman. 

"  A  fair  good  morrow  to  you.  Master  Merrycourt!  You 
come  right  early  to  look  after  your  ode?" 

"  Sir/^  said  Mericour,  gravely  saluting  him,  "  I  come  to 
make  you  my  confession.  I  find  that  I  did  not  deal  truly 
with  you  last  night,  but  it  was  all  unwittingly." 

"  How?"  exclaimed  Sir  Marmaduke,  recollecting  Lucy's 
tears  and  looking  much  startled.  "  You  have  not — "  and 
there  he  broke  off,  seeing  Mericour  eager  to  speak. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  was  bred  as  one  set  apart  from  love. 
I  had  never  learned  to  think  it  possible  to  me — I  thought 
so  even  when  I  replied  to  you  last  evening;  but,  sir,  the 
words  you  then  spoke,  the  question  you  asked  me  set  my 
heart  burning,  and  my  senses  whirling — "  And  between 
agitation  and  confusion  he  stammered  and  clasped  his  hands 
passionately,  trying  to  continue  what  he  was  saying,  but 
muttering  nothing  intelligible. 

Sir  Marmaduke  filled  up  the  interval  with  a  long  whistle 
of  periilexity;  but,  too  kind  not  to  pity  the  youth's  distress, 
he  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  saying,  "  You  found  out 
you  were  but  a  hot-headed  youth  after  all,  but  an  honest 
one.  For,  as  I  well  trust,  my  lass  knows  naught  of  this." 
"  How  should  she  know,  sir,  what  I  knew  not  myself?" 
"  Ha!  ha!"  chuckled  Sir  Duke  to  l»mself,  "  so  'twas  all 
Dame  Nan's  doing  that  the  flame  has  been  lighted!  Ho! 
ho!  But  what  is  to  come  next  is  the  question?"  and  he 
eyed  the  French  youth  from  head  to  foot  with  the  same 
considering  look  with  which  he  was  wont  to  study  a  bul- 
lock. 

"Sir,  sir,"  cried  Mericour,  absolutely  flinging  himself 
on  his  knee  before  him  with  national  vehemence,  "  do  give 
me  hope!     Oh!  I  will  bless  you,  I  will — " 

"Get  up,  man,"  said  the  knight,  hastily;  "no  fooling 
of  this  sort.  The  milkmaids  will  be  coming.  Hope — why, 
what  sort  of  hope  can  be  given  you  in  the  matter?"  he  con- 
tinued; "you  are  a  very  good  lad,  and  I  like  you  well 
enough,  but  you  are  not  the  sort  of  stuff  one  gives  one's 
daughter  to.  Ay,  ay,  I  know  you  are  a  great  man  in  your 
own  country,  but  what  are  you  here?" 

"  A  miserable  fugitive  and  beggar,  I  know  that,"  said 
Mericour,  vehemently,  "  but  let  me  have  but  hope,  and 
there  is  notliing  I  will  not  be!" 


108  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  Pisli!"  said  Sir  Marmaduke. 

"Hear  me/'  entreated  the  youth,  recalled  to  common 
sense:  ''you  know  that  I  have  lingered  at  the  chateau 
yonder,  partly  to  study  divinity  and  settle  my  mind,  and 
partly  because  my  friend  Eibaumont  begged  me  to  await 
his  return,  I  will  be  no  longer  idle;  my  mind  is  fixed. 
To  Fri>.nce  I  can  not  return,  while  she  gives  me  no  choice 
between  such  doctrine  and  practice  as  I  saw  at  court,  and 
such  as  the  Huguenots  would  have  imposed  on  me.  I  had 
already  chosen  England  as  my  country  before — before  this 
wild  hope  had  awakened  in  me.  Here,  I  know  my  nobility 
counts  for  nothing,  though,  trul}^  sir,  few  names  in  France 
are  prouder.  But  it  shall  be  no  hinderance.  I  will  become 
one  of  your  men  of  the  robe.  I  have  heard  that  they  can 
enrich  themselves  and  intermarry  with  your  country 
7iobksse." 

"  True,  true,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  "  there  is  more 
sense  in  that  notion  than  there  seemed  to  be  in  you  at  first. 
My  poor  brother  Phil  was  to  have  been  a  lawyer  if  he  had 
lived,  but  it  seems  to  me  you  are  a  long  way  off  from  that 
yet!     Why,  our  Templars  be  mostly  Oxford  scholars." 

"  So  it  was  exj)lained  to  me,"  said  Mericour,  "  but  for 
some  weeks  past  the  Lady  Burnet,  to  whose  sons,  as  you 
know,  I  have  been  teaching  French,  has  been  praying  me 
to  take  charge  of  thcin  at  Oxford,  by  which  means  I  should 
at  least  be  there  maintained,  and  perchance  obtain  the 
means  for  carrying  on  ray  studies  at  the  Temple." 

"  Not  ill  thought  of,"  said  the  knight;  "a  fair  course 
enough  for  you;  but  look  you,  you  must  have  good  luck 
indeed  to  be  in  a  state  to  marry  within  ten  or  fifteen  years 
— very  likely  not  then — having  nothing  of  your  own,  and 
my  wench  but  little,  for  Lucy's  portion  can  not  be  made 
equal  to  her  sisters',  her  mother  having  been  no  heiress  like 
Dame  Nan.  And  would  you  have  me  keep  the  maid  un- 
wedded  till  she  be  thirty  or  thirty-five  years  old,  waiting 
for  your  fortune?" 

Mericour  looked  terribly  disconcerted  at  this. 

"  Moreover,"  added  the  knight,  "  they  will  all  be  at  me^, 
so  soon  as  those  poor  lads  come  home — Heaven  grant  they 
do — to  give  her  to  Berenger. ' ' 

"  Sir,"  said  Mericour,  looking  up  with  a  sudden  smile, 
"  all  that  I  would  ask  is,  what  you  are  too  good  a  father  to 
do,  that  you  would  not  put  any  force  on  her  inclinations. " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  109 

"  How  now?  you  said  you  had  never  courted  her!^^ 

"  Nor  have  I,  sir.  But  I  see  the  force  of  your  words. 
Should  she  love  another  man,  my  dreams  were,  of  course, 
utterly  vain;  but  if  not — "     He  broke  off. 

"  Well,  well,  I  am  no  man  to  force  a  girl  to  match 
against  her  will;  but  never  trust  to  that,  man.  I  know 
what  women  are;  and  let  a  fantastic  stranger  come  across 
them,  there's  an  end  of  old  friends.  But  yours  is  an  honest 
purpose,  and  you  are  a  good  youth;  and  if  you  had  any- 
thing to  keep  her  with,  you  should  have  Lucy  to-morrow, 
with  all  my  heart.  ""^ 

Then  came  the  further  question  whether  Mericour  should 
be  allowed  an  interview  with  Lucy.  Sir  Marmaduke  was 
simple  enough  to  fancy  that  she  need  not  be  made  aware  of 
the  cause  of  Mericour 's  new  arrangement,  and  decided 
against  it.  The  young  man  sorrowfully  acquiesced,  but 
whether  such  a  secret  could  be  kept  was  another  thing.  To 
him  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  renew  their  former 
terms  of  intercourse  without  betraying  his  feelings,  and  he 
therefore  absented  himself.  Lady  Thistlewood  triumphed 
openly  in  Sir  Marmaduke's  having  found  him  out  and 
banished  him  from  the  house;  Lucy  looked  white  and  shed 
silent  tears.  Her  father's  soft  heart  was  moved,  and  one 
Sunday  evening  he  whisjoered  into  her  ear  that  Dame  Nan 
was  all  wrong,  and  Mericour  only  kept  away  because  he  was 
an  honorable  man.  Then  Lucy  smiled  and  brightened,  and 
Sir  Duke  fondly  asked  her  if  she  were  fool  enough  to  fancy 
herself  in  love  with  the  man. 

"  Oh,  no,  how  should  she,  when  he  had  never  named  love 
to  her?     She  was  only  glad  her  father  esteemed  him.'' 

So  then  foolish,  fond  Sir  Marmaduke  told  her  all  that 
had  passed,  and  if  it  had  not  been  too  late,  he  would  have 
sent  for  Mericour  from  Lady  Burnet's;  but  his  own  story 
did  almost  as  well  in  bringing  back  Lucy's  soft  pink  color. 
She  crept  up  into  Cecily's  room  one  day,  and  found  that 
she  knew  all  about  it,  and  was  as  kind  and  sympathizing  as 
she  could  be — when  a  vocation  had  been  given  up,  though 
na  vows  had  been  taken.  She  did  not  quite  understand  it, 
but  she  would  take  it  on  trust. 


110  THE  CHAPLET  OF  P3AKLS, 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE   SCANDAL  OF  THE   ST  NOD   OF  MONTAUBAN. 

O  ye,  wba  are  sae  guid  yoursel, 

Sae  pious  and  sae  holy, 
Ye've  naught  to  do  but  mark  and  tell 

Your  neebur's  fauts  and  folly. 

Burns. 

The  old  city  of  Montauban,  once  famous  as  the  home  of 
Ariosto's  Rinaldo  and  his  brethren,  known  to  Frencli  ro- 
mance as  "  Les  Quatre  Fils  Aymon,"  acquired  in  later 
times  a  very  diverse  species  of  fame — that,  namely,  of  be- 
ing one  of  the  chief  strongholds  of  the  Reformed.  The 
Bisho]!  Jean  de  Lettes,  after  leading  a  scandalous  life,  had 
professed  a  sort  of  Calvinism,  had  married,  and  retired  to 
Geneva,  and  his  successor  had  not  found  it  possible  to  live 
at  Montauban  from  the  enmity  of  the  inhabitants.  Strong- 
ly situated,  with  a  peculiar  municipal  constitution  of  its  own, 
and  used  to  Provencal  iude2:»endence  both  of  thought  and 
deed,  the  inhabitants  had  been  so  unanimous  in  their  Cal- 
vinism, and  had  offered  such  efficient  resistance,  as  to  have 
wrung  from  government  reluctant  sanction  for  the  open 
observance  of  the  Reformed  worship,  and  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  a  college  for  the  education  of  their  ministry. 

There  then  was  convoked  the  National  Synod,  answer- 
ing to  the  Scottish  General  Assembly,  excepting  that  the 
persecuted  French  Presbyterians  met  in  a  different  place 
every  year.  Delegated  pastors  there  gathered  from  every 
quarter.  From  Northern  France  came  men  used  to  live  in 
constant  hazard  of  their  lives;  from  Paris,  confessors  such 
as  Merlin,  the  chaplain  who,  leaving  Coligny's  bedside,  had 
been  hidden  for  three  days  in  a  hay-loft,  feeding  on  the 
eggs  that  a  hen  daily  laid  beside  him;  army-chajilains  were 
there  who  had  passionately  led  Ijattle-psalms  ere  their  col- 
leagues charged  the  foe,  and  had  striven  with  vain  endeav- 
ors to  render  their  soldiers  saints;  while  other  pastors  came 
from  Pyrenean  villages  where  their  generation  had  never 
seen  flames  lighted  against  heresy,  nor  knew  what  it  was 
to  disperse  a  congregation  in  haste  and  secrecy  for  fear  of 
the  enemy. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  Ill 

The  audience  was  large  and  sympathizing.  Montauhan 
had  become  the  refuge  of  many  Huguenot  families  \\ho 
could  nowhere  else  jJi'ofess  their  faith  without  constant 
danger;  and  a  large  jjroportion  of  these  were  ladies,  wives 
of  gentlemen  in  the  army  kept  up  by  La  None;  or  widows 
who  feared  that  their  children  might  be  taken  from  them 
to  be  brought  up  by  their  Catholic  relations;  elderly  dames 
who  longed  for  tranquillity  after  having  lost  husbands  or 
sons  by  civil  war.  Thickly  they  lodged  in  the  strangely 
named  gnsches  and  vertiers,  as  the  divisions  and  subdi- 
visions of  the  city  were  termed,  occujDyiug  floors  or  apart- 
ment of  the  tall  old  houses;  walking  abroad  in  the  streets 
in  grave  attire,  stiff  hat,  crimped  ruff,  and  huge  fan,  and 
forming  a  society  in  themselves,  close-23acked,  punctilious 
and  dignified,  rigidly  devout  but  strictly  censorious,  and 
altogether  as  unlike  their  ty^iical  country-folks  of  Paris  as 
if  they  had  belonged  to  a  different  nation.  And  the  sourest 
and  most  severe  of  all  were  such  as  had  lived  furthest  south, 
and  personally  suffered  the  least  peril  and  alarm. 

Dancing  was  an  unheard-of  enormity;  cards  and  dice 
were  prohibited;  any  stronger  expletive  than  the  elegant 
ones  invented  for  the  special  use  of  the  King  of  Navarre 
was  expiated  either  by  the  purse  or  the  skin;  Marot's 
psalmody  was  the  only  music,  black  or  sad  color  the  only 
wear;  and,  a  few  years  later,  the  wife  of  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  statesmen  and  councilors  of  Henri  of  Na- 
varre was  excommunicated  for  the  enormity  of  wearing  her 
hair  curled. 

To  such  a  community  it  was  a  delightful  festival  to  re- 
ceive a  national  assembly  of  ministers  ready  to  regale  them 
on  daily  sermons  for  a  whole  month,  and  to  retail  in  pri- 
vate the  points  of  discipline  debated  in  the  jjublic  assem- 
bly; and,  apart  from  mere  eagerness  for  novelty,  many  a 
discreet  heart  beat  with  gladness  at  the  meeting  with  the 
hunted  jDastor  of  her  native  home,  who  had  been  the  first 
to  strike  the  spiritual  chord,  and  awake  her  mind  to  re- 
ligion. 

Every  family  had  their  honored  guest,  every  reception- 
room  was  in  turn  the  scene  of  some  pious  little  assembly 
that  drank  eau  sucree,  and  rejoiced  in  its  favorite  pastor; 
and  each  little  congress  indulged  in  gentle  scandal  against 
its  rival  coterie.  But  there  was  one  point  on  which  all  the 
ladies  agreed — namely,  that  good  Maitre  Isaac  Gardon  had 


112  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS. 

fallen  into  an  almost  doting  state  of  blindness  to  the  vani- 
ties of  his  daughter-in-law,  and  that  she  was  a  disgrace  to 
the  community,  and  ought  to  be  publicly  reprimanded. 

Isaac  Gardon,  long  reported  to  have  been  martyred — 
some  said  at  Paris,  others  averred  at  La  Sablerie — liad  in- 
deed been  welcomed  with  enthusiastic  joy  and  veneration, 
when  he  made  his  appearance  at  Montauban,  jiale,  aged, 
bent,  leaning  on  a  staff,  and  showing  the  dire  effect  of  the 
rheumatic  fever  which  had  prostrated  him  after  the  night 
of  drenching  and  exposure  during  the  escape  from  La  Sa- 
blerie. Crowded  as  the  city  was,  there  was  a  perfect  com- 
petition among  the  tradesfolk  for  the  honor  of  entertain- 
ing him  and  the  young  widow  and  child  of  a  St.  Bartholo- 
mew martyr.  A  cordwainer  of  the  street  of  the  Soubirous 
Hants  obtained  this  honor,  and  the  wife,  though  speaking 
only  the  sweet  Proven9al  tongue,  soon  established  the  most 
friendly  relations  with  M.  Garden's  daughter-in-law. 

Two  or  three  more  pastors  likewise  lodged  in  the  same 
house,  and  ready  aid  was  given  by  Mile.  Garden,  as  all 
called  Eustacie,  in  the  domestic  cares  thus  entailed,  while 
her  filial  attention  to  her  father-in-law  and  her  sweet  ten- 
derness to  her  child  struck  all  this  home  circle  with  admira- 
tion. Children  of  that  age  were  seldom  seen  at  home 
among  the  better  classes  in  towns.  Then,  as  now,  they 
were  universally  consigned  to  country-nurses,  who  only 
brought  them  home  at  three  or  four  years  old,  fresh  from 
a  squalid,  neglected  cottage  life;  and  Eustacie's  little  moon- 
beam, la  petite  Rayonette,  as  she  loved  to  call  her,  was 
quite  an  unusual  spectacle;  and  from  having  lived  entirely 
with  grown  people,  and  enjoyed  the  most  tender  and  dainty 
care  she  was  intelligent  and  brightly  docile  to  a  degree  that 
appeared  marvelous  to  those  who  only  saw  children  stujje- 
fied  by  a  contrary  system.  She  was  a  lovely  little  thing, 
exquisitely  fair,  and  her  plumjD  white  limbs  small  but  per- 
fectly molded;  she  was  always  hajopy,  because  always 
healthy,  and  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  love;  and  she  was 
the  pet  and  wonder  of  all  the  household,  from  the  grinning 
apprentice  to  the  grave  young  candidate  who  hoped  to  be 
elected  pastor  to  the  Duke  de  Quinet's  village  in  the  Ce- 
vennes. 

And  yet  it  was  la  ijeiite,  Rayonette  who  first  brought  her 
mother  into  trouble.  Since  her  emancipation  from  swad- 
dling-clothes she  had  been  equipped  in  a  little  gray  woolen 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  IIS 

frock,  such  as  Eustacie  had  learned  to  knit  among  the 
peasants,  and  varied  with  broad  white  stripes  which  gave  it 
something  of  the  moonbeam  effect;  but  the  mother  had  not 
been  able  to  resist  the  pleasure  of  drawing  up  the  bosom 
and  tying  it  with  a  knot  of  the  very  carnation  color  that 
Berenger  used  to  call  her  own.  That  knot  was  discussed  all 
up  and  down  the  Eue  Soubirous  Hants,  and  even  through 
the  Carriera  Major!  The  widow  of  an  old  friend  of  Maitre 
Garden  had  remonstrated  on  the  impi'oprieties  of  such  gay 
vanities,  and  Mile,  Garden  had  actually  replied,  reddening 
with  insolence,  that  her  husband  had  loved  to  see  her  wear 
the  color. 

Now,  if  the  brethren  at  Paris  had  indulged  their  daugh- 
ters in  such  backslidings,  see  what  had  come  of  it!  But 
that  poor  Theodore  Gardon  should  have  admired  his  bride 
in  such  unhallowed  adornments,  was  an  evident  calumny; 
and  many  a  head  was  shaken  over  it  in  grave  and  pious  as- 
sembly. 

Worse  still;  when  she  had  been  invited  to  a  supper  at 
the  excellent  Mme.  Fargeau's,  the  presumi^tuous  little 
hourgeoise  had  evidently  not  known  her  jilace,  but  had  seat- 
ed herself  as  if  she  were  a  noble  lady,  a  fiUe  de  qualite, 
instead  of  a  mere  minister's  widow  and  a  watch-maker's 
daughter.  Pretend  ignorance  that  precedence  was  to  be 
here  observed !  That  was  another  Parisian  piece  of  impu- 
dence, above  all  in  one  who  showed  such  ridiculous  airs  as 
to  wipe  her  face  with  her  own  handkerchief  instead  of  the 
table-cloth,  and  to  be  reluctant  to  help  herself  from  the 
general  dish  of  potage  with  her  own  spoon.  Even  that 
might  have  been  overlooked  if  she  would  have  regaled  them 
with  a  full  and  particular  account  of  her  own  rescue  from 
the  massacre  at  Paris;  but  she  merely  colored  up,  and  said 
that  she  had  been  so  ill  as  to  know  scarcely  anything  about 
it;  and  when  they  pressed  her  further,  she  shortly  said, 
"  They  locked  me  up;"  and,  before  she  could  be  cross-ex- 
amined as  to  who  was  this  '^  they,"  Maitre  Gardon  inter- 
fered, saying  that  she  had  suffered  so  much  that  he  request- 
ed the  subject  might  never  be  mentioned  to  her.  Nor 
would  he  be  more  explicit,  and  there  was  evidently  some 
mystery,  and  he  was  becoming  blindly  indulgent  and  be- 
sotted by  the  blandishments  of  an  artful  woman. 

Eustacie  was  saved  from  hearing  the  gossip  by  her  ig- 
norance of  the  Provencal,  which  was  the  only  language  of 


114  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

all  but  the  highest  and  most  cultivated  classes.  The  host- 
ess had  very  little  laiigue  iVoul,  and  never  ventured  on  any 
comjilicated  discourse;  and  Isaac  Gardon,  who  could  speak 
both  the  Qc  and  out,  was  not  a  person  whom  it  was  easy  to 
beset  with  mere  hearsay  or  jietty  remonstrance^,  but  enough 
reached  him  at  last  to  make  him  one  day  say  mildly,  "  My 
dear  child,  might  not  the  little  one  dispense  with  her  rib- 
bon while  we  are  here?'" 

"  Eh,  father?     At  the  bidding  of  those  impertinents?" 

"  Take  care,  daughter;  you  were  perfect  with  the  trades- 
folk and  jjeasants,  but  you  can  not  comport  yourself  as  suc- 
cessfully with  i\ii^  petite  noblesse  or  the  pastors'  wives." 

"  They  are  insolent,  father.  I,  in  my  own  true  person, 
would  treat  no  one  as  these  petty  dames  treat  me,"'  said 
Eustacie.  "  I  would  not  meddle  between  a  peasant  woman 
and  her  cliild,  nor  ask  questions  that  must  needs  wring  her 
heart. " 

"Ah,  child!  humility  is  a  bitter  lesson;  and  even  this 
world  needs  it  now  from  you.  We  shall  have  suspicions; 
and  I  heard  to-day  that  the  king  is  in  Dauphiny,  and  with 
him  Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle.  Be  not  alarmed;  he  has 
no  force  with  him,  and  the  peace  still  subsists;  but  we 
must  avoid  suspicion.  There  is  a  preclie  at  the  Moustier 
to-day,  in  French;  it  would  be  well  if  you  were  to  attend 
it." 

"  I  understand  as  little  of  French  sermons  as  of  Pro- 
ven (jal,"  murmured  Eustacie;  but  it  was  only  a  murmur. 

Maitre  Gardon  had  soon  found  out  that  his  charge  had 
not  head  enough  to  be  made  a  thorough-going  controversial 
Calvinist.  Clever,  intelligent,  and  full  of  resources  as  she 
was,  she  had  no  capacity  for  argument,  and  could  not 
enter  into  theoretical  religion.  Circumstances  had  driven 
her  from  her  original  Church  and  alienated  her  from  those 
who  had  practiced  such  jiersonal  cruelties  on  her  and  hers, 
but  the  mold  of  her  mind  remained  what  it  had  been  pre- 
viously; she  clung  to  the  Huguenots  because  they  protected 
her  from  those  who  would  have  forced  an  abhorrent  mar- 
riage on  her  and  snatched  her  child  from  her;  and,  per- 
sonally, she  loved  and  venerated  Isaac  Gardon  with  ardent, 
self-sacrificing  filial  love  and  gratitude,  accepted  as  truth 
all  that  came  from  his  lips,  read  the  Scriptures,  sung  and 
prayed  with  him,  and  obeyed  him  as  dutifully  as  ever  the 
true  Esperance  could  have  done;  but,  except  the  merest  ex- 


THE    CHAPLET    Of    PEAELS.  115 

ternal  objections  against  the  grossest  and  most  palpable 
popular  corruptions  and  fallacies,  she  really  never  entered 
into  the  matter.  She  had  been  left  too  ignorant  of  her 
own  system  to  perceive  its  true  claims  upon  her;  and  though 
she  could  not  help  preferring  High  Mass  to  a  Calvinist  as- 
sembly, and  shrinking  with  instinctive  pain  and  horror  at 
the  many  profanations  she  witnessed,  the  really  spiritual 
leadings  of  her  own  individual  father-like  leader  bad  opened 
so  much  that  was  new  and  precious  to  her,  so  full  of  truth, 
so  full  of  comfort,  giving  so  much  moral  strength,  that, 
unaware  that  all  the  foundations  had  been  laid  by  Mere 
Monique,  the  resolute,  high-spirited  little  thing,  out  of 
sheer  constancy  and  constitutional  courage,  would  have  laid 
down  her  life  as  a  Calvinist  martyr,  in  profound  ignorance 
that  she  was  not  in  the  least  a  Calvinist  all  the  time. 

Hitherto,  her  wandering  life  amid  the  persecuted  Hugue- 
nots of  the  West  had  prevented  her  from  hearing  any  preach- 
ing but  good  Isaac's  own,  which  had  been  rather  in  the  way 
of  comfort  and  encouragement  than  of  controversy,  but  in 
this  great  gathering  it  was  impossible  that  there  should  not 
be  plenty  of  vehement  polemical  oratory,  such  as  was  sure 
to  fly  over  that  weary  little  head.  After  a  specimen  or 
two,  the  chances  of  the  sermon  being  in  Provencal,  and 
the  necessity  of  attending  to  her  child,  had  been  Eustacie's 
excuse  for  usually  offering  to  attend  to  the  menage,  and  set 
her  hostess  free  to  be  present  at  the  preachings. 

Hcwever,  Eayonette  was  considered  as  no  valid  excuse; 
for  did  not  whole  circles  of  black-eyed  children  sit  on  the 
floor  in  sleepy  stolidity  at  the  feet  of  their  mothers  or 
nurses,  and  was  it  not  a  mere  worldly  folly  to  pretend  that 
a  child  of  sixteen  months  could  not  be  brought  to  church? 
It  was  ariother  instance  of  the  mother's  frivolity  and  the 
grandfather's  idolatry. 

The  Moustier,  or  minster,  the  monastic  church  of  Mon- 
taubau,  built  on  Mont  Auriol  in  honor  of  St.  Theodore, 
had,  twelve  years  before,  been  plundered  and  sacked  by 
the  Calvinists,  not  only  out  of  zeal  for  iconoclasm,  but 
from  long-standing  hatred  and  jealousy  against  the  monks. 
Catharine  de  Medicis  had,  in  1546,  carried  off  two  of  the 
jasper  columns  from  its  chief  door-way  to  the  Louvre;  and, 
after  some  years  more,  it  was  entirely  destroyed.  The 
grounds  of  the  Auriol  Mountain  Monastery  have  been  deso- 
late  down  to  the  present  day,  when  they  have  been  formed 


110  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

into  public  gardens.  When  Eustacie  walked  through  them, 
carrying  her  little  girl  in  her  arms,  a  rose  in  her  bosom  to 
console  her  for  the  loss  of  her  bright  breastknot,  they  were 
in  raw  fresh  dreariness,  with  tottering,  blackened  cloisters, 
garden  flowers  run  wild,  images  that  she  had  never  ceased 
to  regard  as  sacred  lying  broken  and  defiled  among  the 
grass  and  weeds. 

Up  the  broad  j^ath  was  pacing  the  municipal  procession, 
headed  by  the  three  consuls,  each  with  a  sergeant  bearing  a 
white  rod  in  front  and  a  scarlet  mantle,  and  the  consuls 
themselves  in  long  robes  with  wide  sleeves  of  quartered 
black  and  scarlet,  followed  by  six  halberdiers,  likewise  in 
scarlet,  blazoned  with  the  shield  of  the  city — gules,  a  gold- 
en willow-tree,  j^ollarded  and  shedding  its  branches,  a  chief 
azure  with  the  three  fleur-de-lis  of  royalty.  As  little  Eay- 
onette  gleefully  pointed  at  the  brilliant  pageant,  Eustacie 
could  not  help  saying,  rather  bitterly,  that  these  inessUnirs 
seemed  to  wish  to  engross  all  the  gay  colors  from  heaven 
and  earth  for  themselves;  and  Maitre  Isaac  could  not  help 
thinking  she  had  some  right  on  her  side  as  he  entered  the 
church  once  gorgeous  with  jaspers,  marbles,  and  mosaics, 
glowing  with  painted  glass,  resplendent  with  gold  and  jew- 
els, rich  with  paintings  and  draperies  of  the  most  brilliant 
dyes;  but  now,  all  that  w^as  not  an  essential  part  of  the  fab- 
ric utterly  gone,  and  all  that  was,  soiled,  dulled,  defaced; 
the  whole  building,  even  up  to  the  end  of  the  chancel,  was 
closely  fitted  with  benches  occupied  by  the  "  sad-colored  " 
congregation.  Isaac  was  obliged  by  a  strenuous  effort  of 
memory  to  recall  ""  Nehushtan  "  and  tlie  golden  calves,  be- 
fore he  could  clear  from  his  mind,  "  Now  they  break  down 
all  the  carved  work  thereof  with  axes  and  with  hammers." 
But,  then,  did  not  the  thorough-going  Reformers  think 
Master  Isaac  a  very  weak  and  backsliding  brother? 

Nevertheless,  in  right  of  his  age,  his  former  reputation, 
and  his  sufferings,  his  place  was  full  in  the  midst  of  the 
square-capped,  black-robed  ministers  who  sat  herded  on  a 
sort  of  platform  together,  to  address  tlie  Almighty  and  the 
congregation  in  ]3rayers  and  discourses,  interspersed  wdth 
j)salms  sung  by  the  whole  assembly.  There  was  no  want 
of  piety,  depth,  force,  or  fervor.  These  w^ere  men  refined 
by  persecution,  who  had  struggled  to  the  light  that  had 
been  darkened  by  the  popular  systezn,  and,  having  once 
been  forced  into  foregoing  their  scruples  as  to  breaking  the 


The  chaplet  of  pearls.  117 

unity  of  the  Church,  regarded  themselves  even  as  apostles 
of  the  truth.  Listening  to  them,  Isaac  Garden  felt  him- 
self rapt  into  the  hopes  of  cleansing  the  aspirations  of  uni- 
versal reintegration  tliat  had  shone  before  his  early  youth, 
ere  the  Church  had  shown  herself  deaf,  and  the  Reformers 
in  losing  patience  had  lost  purity,  and  disappointment  had 
crushed  him  into  an  aged  man. 

He  was  recalled  by  the  echo  of  a  gay,  little  inarticulate 
cry — those  baby  tones  that  had  become  such  music  to  his 
ears  that  he  hardly  realized  that  they  were  not  indeed  from 
his  grandchild.  In  a  moment's  glance  he  saw  how  it  was. 
A  little  bird  had  flown  in  at  one  of  the  empty  windows, 
and  was  fluttering  over  the  heads  of  the  congregation,  and 
a  small,  plump,  white  arm  and  hand  was  stretched  out  and 
pointing — a  rosy,  fair,  smiling  face  upturned;  a  little  gray 
figure  had  scrambled  up  on  the  knee  of  one  ol  the  still, 
bJack-hooded  women;  and  the  shout  of  irrepressible  delight 
was  breaking  on  the  decorum  of  the  congregation,  in  s]>ite 
of  hushes,  in  spite  of  the  uplifted  rod  of  a  scarlet  sergeant 
on  his  way  down  the  aisle  to  quell  the  disturbance;  nay,  as 
the  bird  came  nearer,  the  exulting  voice,  proud  of  the 
achievement  of  a  new  word,  shouted  '  Moinctni,  moineau." 
Angered  by  defiance  to  authority,  down  came  the  rod,  not 
indeed  with  great  force,  but  with  enough  to  make  the  arms 
clasp  round  the  mother's  neck,  the  face  hide  itself  on  it,  a 
loud,  terrified  wail  ring  through  the  church,  and  tempest- 
uous sobbing  follow  it  u]).  Then  uprose  the  black-hooded 
figure,  the  child  tightly  clasped,  and  her  mantle  drawn 
round  it,  while  the  other  hand  motioned  the  official  aside, 
and  down  the  aisle,  even  to  the  door,  she  swept  with  the 
lofty  carriage,  high-drawn  neck,  and  swelling  bosom  of  an 
offended  princess. 

Maitre  Garden  heard  little  more  of  the  discourse;  indeed 
he  would  have  iollo\\'ed  at  once  had  he  not  feared  to  in- 
crease the  sensation  and  the  scandal.  He  came  home  to 
find  Eayonette's  tears  long  ago  dried,  but  her  mother  furi- 
ous. She  would  leave  Montauban  that  minute,  she  would 
never  set  foot  in  a  heretic  conventicle  again,  to  have  her 
fatherless  child,  daughter  of  all  the  Eibaumonts,  struck  by 
base  canaille.  Even  her  uncle  could  not  have  done  worse; 
he  at  least  would  have  respected  her  blood. 

Maitre  Garden  did  not  know  that  his  charge  could  be  in 
such  a  passion,  as,  her  eyes  flashing  tlu'ough  tears,  she  in- 


118  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

sisted  on  being  taken  away  at  once.  No,  she  would  hear 
nothing.  She  seemed  to  feel  resentment  due  to  the  honor 
of  all  the  Ribaumonts,  and  he  was  obliged  j^eremptorily  to 
refuse  to  quit  Montauban  till  his  business  at  the  8ynod 
should  be  completed,  and  then  to  leave  her  in  a  flood  of 
angry  tears  and  reproaches  for  exjiosing  her  child  to  such 
usage,  and  apjDroving  it. 

Poor  little  tiling,  he  found  her  meek  and  penitent  for  her 
unjust  anger  toward  himself.  Whatever  he  desired  she 
would  do,  she  would  stay  or  go  with  him  anywhere  exce23t 
to  a  sermon  at  the  Moustier,  and  she  did  not  think  that  in 
her  heart  her  good  father  desired  little  infants  to  be  beaten 
— least  of  all,  Berenger's  little  one.  And  with  Eayonette 
already  on  his  knee,  stealing  liis  spectacles,  peace  was  made. 
Peace  with  him,  but  not  with  the  congregation!  Were  peo- 
ple to  stalk  out  of  church  in  a  rage,  and  make  no  repara- 
tion? Was  Maitre  Isaac  to  talk  of  orj^hans,  only  children, 
and  maternal  love,  as  if  weak  human  affection  did  not  need, 
chastisement?  Was  this  saucy  Parisienue  to  play  the  offend- 
ed, and  say  that  if  the  child  were  not  suffered  at  church  she 
must  stay  at  home  with  it?  The  ladies  agitated  to  have  the 
obnoxious  young  widow  reprimanded  in  open  Synod,  but, 
to  their  still  greater  disgust,  not  a  pastor  would  consent  to 
perform  the  ofRce.  Some  said  that  Maitre  Gardon  ought 
to  rule  his  own  household,  others  that  they  respected  him 
too  much  to  interfere,  and  there  were  others  abandoned 
enough  to  assert  that  if  any  one  needed  a  re|)rimand  it  was 
the  sergeant. 

Of  these  was  the  young  candidate,  Samuel  Mace,  who 
had  been  educated  at  the  exjiense  of  the  Dowager  Duchess 
de  Quinet,  and  hojjed  that  her  influence  would  obtain  his 
election  to  the  pastorate  of  a  certain  peaceful  little  village 
deep  in  the  Cevennes.  She  had  intimated  that  what  he 
wanted  was  a  wife  to  teach  and  imju'ove  the  wives  of  the 
peasant  farmers,  and  where  could  a  more  eligible  one  be 
found  than  Esjicrance  Gardon?  Her  cookery  he  tasted, 
her  industry  he  saw,  her  tenderness  to. her  cliild,  her  atten- 
tion to  her  father,  were  his  daily  admiration;  and  her  soft 
velvet  eyes  and  sweet  smile  went  so  deep  in  his  heart  that 
he  would  have  bought  her  ells  upon  ells  of  lymk  ribbon, 
when  once  out  of  sight  of  the  old  ladies;  would  have  given 
a  father's  love  to  her  little  daughter,  and  a  son's  duty  an(J 
veneration  to  Isaac  Gardon. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  119 

His  patroness  did  not  deny  her  approval.  The  gossiji 
had  indeed  reached  her,  but  she  had  a  high  esteem  for  Isaac 
Gardon,  believed  in  Samuel  Mace's  good  sense,  and  heeded 
Montauban  scandal  very  little.  Her  protege  would  be  much 
better  married  to  a  spirited  woman  who  had  seen  the  world 
than  to  a  mere  farmer's  daughter  who  had  never  looked  be- 
yond her  cheese.  Old  Gardon  woidd  be  an  admirable  ad- 
viser, and  if  he  were  taken  into  the  menage  she  would  add 
to  the  endowment  another  arable  field,  and  grass  for  two 
more  cows.  If  she  liked  the  young  woman  on  inspection, 
the  marriage  should  take  place  in  her  own  august  pres- 
ence. 

What!  had  Maitre  Gardon  refused?  Forbidden  that  the 
subject  should  be  mentioned  to  his  daughter?  Impossible! 
Either  Mace  had  managed  matters  foolishly,  or  the  old 
man  had  some  doubt  of  him  which  she  could  remove,  or 
else  it  was  foolish  reluctance  to  part  with  his  daughter-in- 
law.  Or  the  gossips  were  right  after  all,  and  he  knew  her 
to  be  too  light-minded,  if  not  worse,  to  be  the  wife  of  any 
pious  young  minister.  Or  there  was  some  mystery.  Any- 
way, Mme.  la  Duchesse  would  see  him,  and  bring  him  to 
his  senses,  make  him  give  the  girl  a  good  husband  if  she 
were  worthy,  or  devote  her  to  condign  punishment  if  she 
were  unworthy. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

MADAME    LA    DUCHESSE. 

He  found  an  ancient  dame  in  dim  brocade. 

Tennyson. 

Madame  la  Duchesse  de  Quinet  had  been  a  great 
heiress  and  a  personal  friend  and  favorite  of  Queen  Jeanne 
d'Albret.  She  had  been  left  a  widow  after  five  years'  mar- 
riage, and  for  forty  subsequent  years  had  reigned  despotic- 
ally in  her  own  name  and  that  of  mon  fils.  Busied  with 
the  support  of  the  Huguenot  cause,  sometimes  by  arms, 
but  more  usually  by  politics,  and  constantly  occupied  by 
the  hereditary  government  of  one  of  the  lesser  counties  of 
France,  the  duke  was  all  the  better  son  for  relinquishing  to 
her  the  home  administration,  as  well  as  the  education  of  ln"s 
two  motherless  boys;  and  their  confidence  and  affection 
were  perfect,  though  he  was  almost  as  seldom  at  home  as 


120  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

she  was  abroad.  At  times,  indeed,  she  had  visited  Queen 
Jeanne  at  Nerac;  but  since  the  good  queen's  death,  she 
only  left  the  great  chateau  of  Quinet  to  make  a  royal  prog- 
ress of  inspection  through  the  family  towns,  castles,  and 
estates,  sometimes  to  winter  in  her  beautiful  hereditary 
hotel  at  Montauban,  and  as  at  present,  to  attend  any  great 
assembly  of  the  Eeformed. 

Very  seldom  was  her  will  not  law.  Strong  sense  and 
judgment,  backed  by  the  learning  that  Queen  Marguerite 
of  Navarre  had  introduced  among  the  companions  of  her 
daughter,  had  rendered  her  superior  to  most  of  those  with 
whom  she  came  in  contact:  and  the  Huguenot  ministers, 
who  were  much  more  dependent  on  their  laity  than  the 
Catholic  priesthood,  foi.'  the  most  part  treated  her  as  not 
only  a  devout  and  honorable  woman,  an  elect  lady,  but  as 
a  sort  of  State  authority.  That  she  had  the  right-minded- 
ness to  resjject  and  esteem  such  men  as  Theodore  Beza, 
Merlin,  etc.,  who  treated  her  with  great  regard,  but  never 
cringed,  had  not  become  known  to  the  rest.  Let  her  have 
once  2^ronounced  against  poor  little  Esperance  Gardon,  and 
public  disgrace  would  be  a  matter  of  certainty. 

There  she  sat  in  her  wainscoted  walnut  cabinet,  a  small 
woman  by  her  inches,  but  stately  enough  to  seem  of  majes- 
tic stature,  and  with  gray  eyes,  of  inexpressible  keenness, 
which  she  fixed  upon  the  halting,  broken  form  of  Isaac  Gar- 
don, and  his  grave,  venerable  face,  as  she  half  rose  and 
made  a  slight  acknowledgment  of  his  low  bow. 

"  Sit,  Maitre  Gardon,  you  are  lame,"  she  said,  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand.  "  I  gave  you  the  incommodity  of  com- 
ing to  see  me  here,  because  I  imagined  that  there  were  mat- 
ters you  would  not  openly  discuss  en  jjleine  salle." 

"Madame  is  considerate,"  said  Isaac,  civilly,  but  with 
an  open-eyed  look  and  air  that  at  once  showed  her  tliat  she 
had  not  to  deal  with  one  of  the  ministers  who  never  forgot 
their  low  birth  in  intercourse  with  her. 

"  I  understand,"  said  she,  coming  to  the  point  at  once, 
"  that  you  decline  the  proposals  of  Samuel  Mace  for  your 
daughter-in-law.  Now  I  wish  you  to  know  that  Mace  is  a 
very  good  youth,  whom  I  have  known  from  his  birth  " — 
and  she  went  on  in  his  praise,  Isaac  bowing  at  each  pause, 
until  she  had  exhausted  both  Mace's  history  and  her  own 
beneficent  intentions  for  him.  Then  he  said,  "  Madame  is 
very  good,  and  the  young  man  appeared  to  me  excellent, 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  121 

Nevertheless,  tliis  thing  may  not  be.     My  daughter-in-hiw 
has  resolved  not  to  marry  again." 

"  Nay,  but  this  is  mere  folly,"  said  the  duchess.  "  We 
hold  not  Catholic  tenets  on  merit  in  abstaining,  but  rather 
go  by  St.  Paul's  advice  that  the  younger  widows  should 
marry,  rather  than  wax  wanton.'  And,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  Maitre  Gardon,  this  daughter  of  yours  does  seem  to 
have  set  tongues  in  motion." 

"  Not  by  her  own  fault,  madame." 

"  Stay,  my  good  friend;  I  never  found  a  man — minister 
or  lay — who  was  a  fair  judge  in  these  matters.  You  old 
men  are  no  better  than  the  young — rather  worse — because 
you  do  not  distrust  yourselves.  Now,  I  say  no  harm  of  the 
young  woman,  and  I  know  an  angel  would  be  abused  at 
Montauban  for  not  wearing  sad-colored  wings;  but  she 
needs  a  man's  care — you  are  frail,  you  can  not  live  forever 
— and  how  is  it  to  be  with  her  and  her  child?" 

"  I  hope  to  bestow  them  among  her  kindred  ere  I  die, 
madame,"  said  Isaac. 

"  No  kindred  can  serve  a  woman  like  a  sensible  husband! 
Besides,  I  thought  all  jjerished  at  Paris.  Listen,  Isaac  Gar- 
don :  I  tell  you  ]3lainly  that  scandal  is  afloat.  You  are 
blamed  for  culjjable  indifference  to  alleged  levities — I  say 
not  that  it  is  true — but  I  see  this,  that  unless  you  can  be- 
stow your  daughter-in-law  on  a  good,  honest  man,  able  to 
silence  the  whispers  of  malice,  there  will  be  measures  taken 
that  will  do  shame  both  to  your  own  gray  hairs  and  to  the 
memory  of  your  dead  son,  as  well  as  expose  the  poor  young 
woman  herself.  You  are  one  who  has  %  true  tongue,  Isaac 
Gardon;  and  if  you  can  assure  me  that  she  is  a  faithful,  good 
woman,  as  poor  Mace  thinks  her,  and  will  give  her  to  him 
in  testimony  thereof,  then  shall  not  a  moutli  open  against 
her.  If  not,  in  spite  of  all  my  esteem  for  you,  the  disci- 
pline of  the  Eeformed  must  take  its  course." 

"  And  for  what?"  said  Isaac,  with  a  grave  tone,  almost 
of  reproof.  "  What  discipline  can  punish  a  woman  for  let- 
ting her  infant  wear  a  colored  ribbon,  and  shielding  it  from 
a  blow?" 

"  That  is  not  all.  Master  Isaac,"  said  the  duchess, 
seriously.  "  In  spite  of  your  much-respected  name,  evil 
and  censorious  tongues  will  have  it  that  matters  ought  to 
be  investigated;  that  there  is  some  mystery;  that  the  young 
woman  does  not  give  a  satisfactory  account  of  herself ^  and 


122  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

that  the  child  does  not  resemble  either  her  or  your  son — in 
short,  that  you  may  be  deceived  by  an  impostor,  perhaps  a 
Catholic  spy.  Mind,  I  say  not  that  I  credit  all  this,  only  I 
would  show  you  what  reports  you  must  guard  against/' 

"  La  pauvre  petite  !'[  said  Isaac,  under  his  breath,  as  if 
appalled;  then  collecting  himself,  he  said,  "  Madame,  these 
are  well-nigh  threats.  I  had  come  hither  nearly  resolved 
to  confide  in  you  without  them." 

"  Then  there  is  a  mystery?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  but  the  deception  is  solely  in  the  name. 
She  is,  in  very  truth,  a  widow  of  a  martyr  of  the  St.  Bar- 
thelemy,  but  that  martyr  was  not  my  son,  whose  wife  was 
happy  in  dying  with  him. " 
And  who,  then,  is  she?" 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  has  heard  of  the  family  of  Ribau- 
mont. " 

"  Ha!  Monsieur  de  Eibaumont!  A  gay  comrade  of  King 
Henry  II.,  but  who  had  his  eyes  opened  to  the  truth  by 
Monsieur  I'Amiral,  though  he  lacked  courage  for  an  ojDcn 
profession.  Yes,  the  very  last  pageant  I  beheld  at  court, 
was  the  wedding  of  his  little  son  to  the  Count  de  Eibau- 
mont's  daughter.  It  was  said  that  the  youth  was  one  of 
our  victims  at  Paris." 

*'  Even  so,  madame;  and  this  poor  child  is  the  little  one 
whom  you  saw  wedded  to  him."  And  then,  in  answer  to 
the  duchess's  astonished  inquiry,  he  proceeded  to  relate 
how  Eustacie  had  been  forced  to  fly  from  her  kindred,  and 
how  he  had  first  encountered  her  at  his  own  lurking-place, 
and  had  accepted  her  as  a  charge  imposed  on  him  by  Provi- 
dence; then  explained  how,  at  La  Sable rie,  she  had  been 
recognized  by  a  young  gentleman  whom  she  had  known  at 
Paris,  but  who  professed  to  be  fleeing  to  England,  there  to 
study  the  Protestant  controversy;  and  how  she  had  con- 
fided to  him  a  letter  to  her  husband's  mother,  who  was  mar- 
ried in  England,  begging  her  to  send  for  her  and  her 
daughter,  the  latter  being  heiress  to  certain  English  estates, 
as  well  as  French. 

"  Madame,"  added  Gardon,  "  Heaven  forgive  me,  if  I 
do  the  youth  injustice  by  suspecting  him,  but  no  answer 
ever  arrived  to  that  letter;  and  while  we  still  expected  one, 
a  good  and  kindly  citizen,  who  I  trust  has  long  been  re- 
ceived into  glory,  sent  me  a  notice  that  a  detachment  of 
Monsieur's  army  was  on  its  way  from  La  Rochelle,  under 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS.  123 

command  of  Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle,  to  search  out  tliis 
poor  lady  in  La  Sablerie.  He,  good  man,  deemed  that, 
were  we  gone,  he  could  make  terms  for  the  j)lace,  and  we 
therefore  quitted  it.  Alas!  madame  knows  how  it  fared 
with  the  pious  friends  we  left.  Little  deeming  how  they 
would  "be  dealt  with,  we  took  our  way  along  the  Sables 
d'Olonne,  where  alone  we  could  be  safe,  since,  as  madatne 
knows,  they  are  for  miles  impracticable  for  troops.  But 
we  had  another  enemy  there — the  tide;  and  there  was  a 
time  when  we  truly  deemed  tliat  the  mercy  granted  us  had 
been  that  we  had  fallen  into  the  hand  of  the  Lord  instead 
of  the  hand  of  cruel  man.  Yes,  madame,  and  even  for 
that  did  she  give  thanks,  as  she  stood,  never  even  trem- 
bling, on  the  low  sand-bank,  with  her  babe  in  her  bosom, 
and  the  sea  creeping  up  on  all  sides.  She  only  turned  to 
me  with  a  smile,  saying,  '  She  is  asleep,  she  will  not  feel 
it,  or  know  anything  till  she  wakes  up  in  Paradise,  and 
sees  her  father. '  Never  saw  I  a  woman,  either  through 
nature  or  grace,  so  devoid  of  fear.  We  were  rescued  at 
last,  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  which  sent  a  fisherman,  who 
bore  us  to  his  boat  when  benumbed  with  cold,  and  scarce 
able  to  move.  He  took  us  to  a  good  priest's,  Colombeau 
of  Nissard,  a  man  who,  as  madame  may  know,  is  one  of 
those  veritable  saints  who  still  are  sustained  by  the  truth 
within  their  Church,  and  is  full  of  charity  and  mercy.  He 
asked  me  no  questions,  but  fed,  warmed,  sheltered  us,  and 
sped  us  on  our  way.  Perhaps,  however,  I  was  overconfi- 
dent in  myself,  as  the  guardian  of  the  poor  child,  for  it  was 
Heaven's  will  that  the  cold  and  wet  of  our  night  on  the 
sands — though  those  tender  young  frames  did  not  suffer 
therefrom — should  bring  on  an  illness  which  has  made  an 
old  man  of  me.  I  struggled  on  as  long  as  I  could,  hojnng 
to  attain  to  a  safe  resting-place  for  her,  but  the  winter  cold 
comjileted  the  work;  and  then,  madame — oh  that  I  could 
tell  you  the  blessing  she  was  to  me! — her  patience,  her 
watchfulness,  her  tenderness,  through  all  the  long  weeks 
that  I  lay  lieljjless  alike  in  mind  and  body  at  Charente. 
Ah!  madame,  had  my  own  daughter  lived,  she  could  not 
have  been  more  to  me  than  that  noble  lady;  and  her  cheer- 
ful love  did  even  more  for  me  than  her  tender  care." 

"  I  must  see  her,''  ejaculated  the  duchess;  then  added, 
"  But  was  it  this  illness  that  hindered  you  from  placing  her 
in  safety  in  England?'^ 


124  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

"In  part,  madame;  nay,  I  may  say,  wholly.  We 
learned  that  the  assembly  was  to  take  place  here,  and  I 
had  my  poor  testimony  to  deliver,  and  to  give  notice  of  my 
intention  to  my  brethren  before  going  to  a  foreign  land, 
whence  perhaps  I  may  never  retui'n." 

"  She  ought  to  be  in  England,"  said  Mme.  de  Quinet; 
"  she  will  never  be  safe  from  these  kinsmen  in  this  coun- 
try." 

"  Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle  has  been  all  the  spring  in 
Poland  with  the  king,"  said  the  minister,  "and  the  poor 
lady  is  thought  to  have  perished  at  La  Sablerie.  Thus  the 
danger  has  been  less  pressing,  but  I  would  have  taken  her 
to  England  at  once,  if  I  could  have  made  sure  of  her  recep- 
tion, and  besides — "  he  faltered. 

"  The  means?"  demanded  the  duchess,  guessing  at  the 
meaning. 

"  Madame  is  right.  She  had  brought  away  some  money 
and  jewels  with  her,  but  alas,  madame,  during  my  illness, 
without  my  knowledge,  the  dear  child  absolutely  sold  them 
to  procure  comforts  for  me.  Nay  " — his  eyes  filled  with 
tears — "  she  whom  they  blame  for  vanities,  sold  the  very 
hair  from  her  head  to  purchase  unguents  to  ease  the  old 
man's  pains;  nor  did  I  know  it  for  many  a  day  after. 
From  day  to  day  we  can  live,  for  our  own  people  willingly 
sujiport  a  i^astor  and  his  family;  and  in  every  house  my 
daughter  has  been  loved — everywhere  but  in  this  harsh- 
judging  town.  But  for  the  expense  of  a  voyage,  even  were 
we  at  I3ordeaux  or  La  Roche  lie,  we  have  nothing,  save  by 
parting  with  the  only  jewels  that  remain  to  her,  and  those 
— those,  she  says,  are  heir-looms;  and,  poor  child,  she 
guards  them  almost  as  jealously  as  her  infant,  around 
whom  she  has  fastened  them  beneath  her  clothes.  She 
will  not  even  as  yet  hear  of  leaving  them  in  pledge,  to  be 
redeemed  by  the  family.  She  says  they  would  hardly  know 
her  without  them.  And  truly,  madame,  I  scarce  venture 
to  take  her  to  England,  ere  I  know  what  recejition  would 
await  her.  Should  her  husband's  family  disown  or  cast  her 
off,  1  could  take  better  care  of  her  here  than  in  a  strange 
land." 

"You  are  right,  Maitre  Garden,"  said  the  duchess; 
"  the  risk  might  be  great.  I  would  see  this  lady.  She 
must  be  a  rare  creature.  Bear  her  my  greetings,  my 
friend,  and  pray  her  to  do  me  the  honor  of  a  visit  this  after- 


THE    CllAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  135 

noon.  Tell  her  I  vvoiikl  come  myself  to  her,  but  that  I 
understand  she  does  not  wish  to  attnict  notice. " 

"  Madame,"  said  Isaac,  rising,  and  with  a  strange  man- 
ner, between  a  smile  and  a  tear  of  earnestness,  "  allow  me 
to  bespeak  your  goodness  for  my  daughter.  The  poor  lit- 
tle thhig  is  scarcely  more  than  a  child.  She  is  but  eighteen 
even  now,  and  it  is  not  always  easy  to  tell  whether  she  will 
be  an  angel  of  noble  goodness,  or,  pardon  me,  a  half-petu- 
lant child." 

"I  understand."  Mme.  de  Quinet  laughed,  and  she 
probably  did  understand  more  than  reluctant,  anxious  Isaac 
Gardon  thought  she  did,  of  his  winning,  gracious,  yet 
haughty,  headstrong,  little  charge,  so  humbly  helpful  one 
moment,  so  self -asserting  and  childish  the  next,  so  dear  to 
him,  yet  so  unlike  anytbing  in  his  exj)erience. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  as  he  found  her  in  the  sunny  window 
engaged  in  plaiting  the  deep  folds  of  his  starched  ruffs, 
"  you  have  something  to  forgive  me." 

"  Fathers  do  not  ask  their  children's  jiardon,"  said  Eus- 
tacie,  brightly,  but  then,  with  sudden  dismay,  "Ah!  you 
have  not  said  I  should  go  to  that  Moustier  again." 

"  No,  daughter;  but  Madame  de  Quinet  entreats — these 
are  her  words — that  you  will  do  her  the  honor  of  calling  on 
her.  She  would  come  to  you,  but  that  she  fears  to  attract 
notice  to  us. " 

"  You  have  told  her!"  exclaimed  Eustacie. 

"  I  was  compelled,  but  I  had  already  thought  of  asking 
your  consent,  and  she  is  a  true  and  generous  lady,  with 
whom  your  secret  will  be  safe,  and  who  can  hush  the  idle 
tongues  here.  So,  daughter,"  he  added  restlessly,  "  don 
your  hood;  that  ruff  will  serve  for  another  day." 

"  Another  day,  when  the  morrow  is  Sunday,  and  my 
father's  ruff  is  to  put  to  shame  all  the  other  pastors',"  said 
Eustacie,  her  quick  fingers  still  moving.  "  No,  he  shall 
not  go  ill-starched  for  any  duchess  in  France.  Nor  am  I 
in  any  haste  to  be  lectured  by  Madame  de  Quinet,  as  they 
say  she  lectured  the  Dame  de  Soubrera  the  other  day. " 

"  My  child,  you  will  go;  much  depends  on  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  going;  only  if  Madame  de  Quinet  knows 
who  I  am,  she  will  not  expect  me  to  hurry  at  her  beck  and 
call  the  first  moment.  Here,  Rayonette,  my  bird,  my 
beauty,  thou  must  have  a  clean  ca]?;  ay,  and  these  flaxen 
curls  combed," 


136  THE    CHAPLET    OF    TEAELS. 

"  Would  you  take  the  child?" 

"  Would  I  go  without  MiuIemoiyL'lle  dc  Ribaumont?  She 
i&  all  her  mother  is,  and  more.  There,  now  she  is  a  true 
rosebud,  ready  to  perch  on  my  arm.  No,  no,  hon  perc. 
So  great  a  girl  is  too  much  for  you  to  carry.  Don^t  be 
afraid,  my  darling,  we  are  not  going  to  a  sermon,  no  one 
will  beat  her;  oh  no,  and  if  the  insolent  retainers  and  pert 
lackeys  laugh  at  her  mother,  no  one  will  hurt  her. " 

"  Nay,  child,''  said  Maitre  Gardon;  "  this  is  a  M'ell- 
ordfcred  household,  where  contemj^t  and  scorn  are  not  suf- 
fered. Only,  dear,  dear  daugliter,  let  me  pray  you  to  be 
your  true  self  with  the  duchess." 

Eustacie  shrugged  her  shoidders,  and  had  mischief  enough 
in  her  to  enjoy  keeping  her  good  father  in  some  doubt  and 
dread  as  he  went  halting  wearily  by  her  side  along  the 
much-decorated  streets  that  marked  the  grand  Gasche  of 
Tarn  and  Tarascon.  The  Hotel  de  Quinet  stretched  out 
its  broad  stone  steps,  covered  with  vaultings,  absolutely 
across  the  street,  atrording  a  welcome  shade,  and  no  ob- 
struction where  wheeled  carriages  never  came. 

All  was,  as  Maitre  Isaac  had  said,  decorum  itself.  A 
couple  of  armed  retainers,  rigid  as  sentinels,  waited  on  the 
steps;  a  grave  porter,  maimed  in  the  wars,  opened  the 
great  door;  half  a  dozen  laqtiais  in  sober  though  rich 
liveries  sat  on  a  bench  in  the  hall,  and  had  somewhat  the 
air  of  having  been  set  to  con  a  lesson.  Two  of  them,  com- 
ing resjiectfully  forward,  ushered  Maitre  Gardon  and  his 
companion  to  an  anteroom,  where  various  gentlemen,  or 
pastors,  or  candidates — among  them  Samuel  Mace — were 
awaiting  a  summons  to  the  duchess,  or  merely  using  it  as  a 
place  of  assembly.  A  page  of  high  birth,  but  well  schooled 
in  steadiness  of  demeanor,  went  at  once  to  announce  the 
arrival;  and  Gardon  and  his  companion  had  not  been  many 
moments  in  conversation  with  their  acquaintance  among 
the  ministers,  before  a  grave  gentleman  returned,  appar- 
ently from  his  audience,  and  the  page,  coming  to  Eustacie, 
intimated  that  she  was  to  follow  him  to  Mme.  la  Duchesse's 
presence. 

He  conducted  her  across  a  great  tajiestry-hung  saloon, 
where  twelve  or  fourteen  ladies  of  all  ages — from  seventy 
to  fifteen — sat  at  work:  some  at  tajiestry,  some  spinning, 
some  making  coarse  garments  for  the  poor.  A  great 
throne-like  chair,  with  a  canopy  over  it,  a  footstool,  a  desk 


TIIR    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  127 

and  a  small  table  before  it,  was  vacant,  and  the  work — a 
poor  child's  knitted  cap — laid  down;  but  an  elderly  minis- 
ter, seated  at  a  carved  desk,  had  not  discontinued  reading 
from  a  great  black  book,  and  did  not  even  cease  while  the 
strangers  crossed  the  room,  merely  making  a  slight  in- 
clination with  his  head,  while  the  ladies  half  rose,  rustled  a 
slight  reverence  with  their  black,  gray  or  russet  skirts,  but 
hardly  lifted  their  eyes.  Eustacie  thought  the  Louvre  had 
never  been  half  so  formidable  or  impressive. 

The  page  lifted  a  heavy  green  curtain  behind  the  canopy, 
knocked  at  a  door,  and,  as  it  opened,  Eustacie  was  con- 
scious of  a  dignified  presence,  that,  in  spite  of  her  previous 
petulance,  caused  her  instinctively  to  bend  in  such  a  rever- 
ence as  had  formerly  been  natural  to  her;  but,  at  the  same 
moment,  a  low  and  magnilicent  courtesy  was  made  to  her,  a 
hand  was  held  out,  a  stately  kiss  was  on  her  brow,  and  a 
voice  of  dignified  courtesy  said,  "  Pardon  mo,  Madame  la 
Baron ne,  for  giving  you  this  trouble.  I  feared  that  other- 
wise we  could  not  safely  meet. " 

"  Madame  is  very  good.  My  Tiayonette,  make  thy  rev- 
erence; kiss  thy  hand  to  the  lady,  my  lamb.'^  And  the 
little  one  obeyed,  gazing  with  her  blue  eyes  full  opened,  and 
clinging  to  her  mother. 

"  Ah!  Madame  la  Baronne  makes  herself  obeyed,"  said 
Mme.  de  Quinet,  well  pleased.     "  Is  it  then  a  girl?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  I  could  scarcely  forgive  her  at  first;  but 
she  has  made  herself  all  the  dearer  to  me.  " 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  Mme.  de  Quinet,  '"  for  yours  is  an 
ancient  stem." 

"  Did  madame  know  my  parents?"  asked  Eustacie  drawn 
from  her  spirit  of  defiance  by  the  equality  of  the  manner 
with  which  she  was  treated. 

"  Scarcely,"  replied  the  duchess;  but,  with  a  smile,  "  I 
had  the  honor  to  see  you  married." 

"  Ah,  then  " — Eustacie  glowed,  almost  smiled,  though  a 
tear  was  in  her  eyes — "  you  can  see  how  like  my  little  one 
is  to  her  father — a  true  White  Ribaumont. " 

The  duchess  had  not  the  most  distinct  recollection  of  the 
complexion  of  the  little  bridegroom;  but  Rayonette's  fair- 
ness was  incontestable,  and  the  old  lady  complimented  it  so 
as  to  draw  on  the  young  mother  into  confidence  on  the  pet 
moonbeam,  appellation  which  she  used  in  dread  of  exciting 


128  THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

suspicion  by  using  the  true  name  of  Berenger,  with  all 
the  why  and  wherefore. 

It  was  what  the  duchess  wanted.  Imperious  as  some 
thought  her,  she  would  on  no  account  have  appeared  to 
cross-examine  any  one  whose  essential  nobleness  of  nature 
struck  her  as  did  little  Eustacie's  at  the  first  moment  she 
saw  her;  and  yet  she  had  decided,  before  the  young  woman 
arrived,  that  her  own  good  opinion  and  assistance  should 
depend  on  the  correspondence  of  Mme.  de  Kibaumont's 
history  of  herself  with  Maitre  Gardon^s. 

Eustacie  had,  for  a  year  and  a  half,  lived  with  peasants; 
and,  indeed,  since  the  trials  of  her  life  had  really  begun, 
she  had  never  been  with  a  woman  of  her  own  station  to 
whom  she  could  give  confidence,  or  from  whom  she  could 
look  for  sympatliy.  And  thus  a  very  few  inquiries  and 
tokens  of  interest  from  the  old  lady  drew  out  the  whole 
story,  and  more  than  once  filled  Mme.  de  Quinet's  eyes 
with  tears. 

There  was  only  one  discrepancy:  Eustacie  could  not  be- 
lieve that  the  Abbe  de  Mericour  had  been  a  faithless  mes- 
senger. Oh,  no!  Either  those  savage-looking  sailors  had 
played  him  false,  or  else  Idle-mere  would  not  send  for  her. 
'  My  mother-hi-law  never  loved  me,'^  said  Eustacie;  "  I 
know  she  never  did.  And  now  she  has  children  by  her  sec- 
ond marriage,  and  no  doubt  would  not  see  my  little  one 
preferred  to  them.     I  will  not  be  her  suppliant.'^ 

"  And  what  then  would  you  do?"  said  Mme.  de  Quinet 
with  a  more  severe  tone. 

"  Never  leave  my  dear  father,"  said  Eustacie,  with  a 
flash  of  eagerness;  "  Maitre  Isaac,  I  mean.  He  has  been 
more  to  me  than  any — any  one,  I  ever  knew — save — " 

"You  have  much  cause  for  gratitude  to  him,''  said 
Mme.  de  Quinet.  "  I  honor  your  filial  love  to  him.  Yet, 
you  have  duties  to  this  little  one.  You  have  no  right  to 
keep  her  from  her  jjosition.  You  ought  to  write  to  Eng- 
land again.     I  am  sure  Maitre  Isaac  tells  you  so." 

Eustacie  would  have  pouted,  but  the  grave,  kind  author- 
ity of  the  manner  prevented  her  from  being  childish,  and 
siie  said,  "  If  I  wrote,  it  should  be  to  my  husband's  grand- 
father, who  brought  him  up,  designated  him  as  his  heir, 
and  whom  he  loved  with  all  his  heart.  But,  oh,  madame, 
he  has  one  of  those  English  names!  So  dreadful!  It  sounds 
like  Vol-au-vent,  but  it  is  not  that  precisely." 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEATlLS.  120 

Mme.  cle  Quiiict  smiled,  but  she  was  a  woman  of  re- 
sources. "  See,  my  friend/'  she  said,  "  the  pursuivant  of 
the  consuls  here  has  the  rolls  of  the  herald's  visitations 
throughout  the  kingdom.  The  arms  and  name  of  the  Baron 
de  Kibaumont's  wife  will  there  be  entered;  and  from  my 
house  at  Quinet  you  shall  write,  and  I,  too,  will  write;  my 
son  shall  take  care  that  the  letters  be  forwarded  safely,  and 
you  shall  await  their  arrival  under  my  protection.  That 
will  be  more  fitting  than  running  the  coimtry  with  an  old 
pastor,  liein  ?" 

"  Madame,  nothing  shall  induce  me  to  quit  him!"  ex- 
claimed Eustacie,  vehemently. 

"  Hear  me  out,  child,"  said  the  duchess.  "  He  goes 
with  us  to  assist  my  chaplain ;  he  is  not  much  fitter  for 
wandering  than  you,  or  less  so.  And  you,  madame,  must, 
I  fear  me,  still  remain  his  daughter-in-law  in  my  house- 
hold; or  if  you  bore  your  own  name  and  rank,  this  uncle 
and  cousin  of  yours  might  learn  that  you  were  still  living; 
and  did  they  claim  you — " 

"  Oh,  madame,  rather  let  me  be  your  meanest  kitchen- 
girl!'' 

''  To  be — what  do  they  call  you?  Esperance  Gardon 
will  be  quite  enough.  I  have  various  women  here — widows, 
wives,  daugliters  of  sufferers  for  the  truth's  sake,  who 
either  are  glad  of  rest,  or  are  trained  up  to  lead  a  godly 
life  in  the  discipline  of  my  household.  Among  them  you 
can  live  without  suspicion,  i^rovided,"  the  old  lady  added, 
smiling,  ''you  can  abstain  from  turning  the  heads  of  our 
poor  young  candidates." 

"  Madame,"  said  Eustacie,  gravely,  "  I  shall  never  turn 
any  one's  head.  Thei'e  was  only  one  who  was  obliged  to 
love  me,  and  happily  I  am  not  fair  enough  to  win  any  one 
else." 

"  Tenez,  child.  Is  this  true  simplicity?  Did  Gardon, 
truly,  never  tell  you  of  poor  Samuel  Mace?" 

Eustacie's  face  expressed  such  genuine  amazement  and 
consternation  that  the  duchess  could  not  help  touching  her 
on  the  cheek  and  saying,  "  Ah!  simj^le  as  a  jjoisinnnaire, 
as  we  used  to  say  when  no  one  else  was  innocent.  But  it  is 
true,  my  dear,  that  to  poor  Samuel  we  owe  our  meeting;  I 
will  send  him  off,  the  poor  fellow,  at  once  to  Bourg-le-Koy 
to  preach  his  three  sermons;  and  when  the}''  have  driven 
you  a  little  out  of  his  head,  he  shall  have  Mariette  there — 

5-2d  half. 


130  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

a  good  girl,  who  will  make  liim  an  excellent  wife.  She  is 
ugly  enough,  but  it  will  be  all  the  same  to  him  just  then! 
I  will  see  him,  and  let  him  know  tliat  I  have  reasons.  He 
lodges  in  your  house,  does  he?  Then  you  had  better  come 
to  me  at  once.     So  will  evil  tongues  best  be  silenced. 

"  But  hold,"  the  duchess  continued,  smiling.  "  You  will 
think  me  a  foolish  old  woman,  but  is  it  true  that  you  have 
saved  the  Pearls  of  Eibaumont,  of  which  good  Canon  Frois- 
sart  tells?" 

Eustacie  lifted  her  child  on  her  knee,  untied  the  little 
gray  frock,  and  showed  them  fastened  beneath,  well  out  of 
sight.  "  I  thought  my  treasures  should  guard  one  another," 
she  said.  "  One  I  sent  as  a  token  to  my  mother-in-law. 
For  the  rest,  they  are  not  mine,  but  hers;  her  father  lent 
them  to  me,  not  gave:  so  she  wears  them  thus;  and  any- 
thing but  her  life  should  go  rather  than  they  should." 

"  Jlein,  a  fine  guardian  for  them!"  was  all  the  duchess 
said  in  answer. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE     ITALIAN     PEDDLER. 

This  caitiff  monk  for  gold  did  swear, 
That  by  liis  drugs  my  rival  fair 
A  saint  in  heaven  should  be. 

Scott. 

A  GRAND  cavalcade  bore  the  house  of  Quinet  from  Mon- 
.tauban — coaches,  wagons,  outriders,  gendarmes — it  was  a 
perfect  coui't  progress,  and  so  slow  and  cundjrous  that  it 
was  a  whole  week  in  reaching  a  grand  old  castle  standing 
on  a  hill-side  among  chestnut  woods,  with  an  avenue  a  mile 
long  leading  up  to  it;  and  battlemented  towers  fit  to  stand 
a  siege. 

Eustacie  was  ranked  among  the  duchess's  gentlewomen. 
She  was  so  far  acknowledged  as  a  lady  of  birth,  that  she 
was  usually  called  Mme.  Esj^erance;  and  though  no  one 
was  supposed  to  doubt  her  being  Theodore  Garden's 
widow,  she  was  regarded  as  being  a  person  of  rank  who  had 
made  a  misalliance  by  marrying  him.  This  Mme.  de  Quinet 
had  allowed  the  household  to  infer,  thinking  that  the  whole 
bearing  of  her  guest  was  too  unlike  that  of  a  Paris  hour- 
(jeoisG  not  to  excite  suspicion,  but  she  deemed  it  wiser  to  re- 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  131 

frain  from  treating  her  with  cither  intimacy  or  distinction 
that  might  excite  jealousy  or  suspicion.  Even  as  it  was, 
the  consciousness  of  a  secret,  or  the  remnants  of  Montau- 
ban  gossip,  prevented  any  familiarity  between  Eustacie  and 
the  good  ladies  who  surrounded  her;  they  were  very  civil  to 
each  other,  but  their  only  coiniecting  link  was  the  delight 
that  every  one  took  in  pettiiig  pretty  little  liayonette,  and 
the  wonder  that  was  made  of  her  signs  of  intelligence  and 
attempts  at  talking.  Even  when  she  toddled  fearlessly  up 
to  the  stately  duchess  on  her  canopied  throne,  and  held 
out  her  entreating  hands,  and  lisped  the  word  '^  montre," 
madame  would  pause  in  her  avocations,  take  her  on  her 
knee,  and  display  that  wonderful  gold  and  enamel  creature 
which  cried  tic-tic,  and  still  remained  an  unapproachable 
mystery  to  M.  le  Marquis  and  M.  le  Vicomte,  her  grandsons. 

Tale,  formal  stiff  boys  they  looked,  twelve  and  ten  years 
old,  and  under  the  dominion  of  a  very  learned  tutor,  who 
taught  them  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  alternately  with  an 
equally  precise,  stiff  old  esquire,  who  trained  them  in  mar- 
tial exercises,  which  seemed  to  be  as  much  matters  of  rote 
with  them  as  their  tasks,  and  to  be  quite  as  uninteresting. 
It  did  not  seem  as  if  they  ever  played,  or  thought  of  play- 
ing; and  if  they  were  ever  to  be  gay,  witty  Frenchmen,  a 
wonderful  change  must  come  over  them. 

The  elder  was  already  betrothed  to  a  Bearnese  damsel,  of 
an  unimpeachably  ancient  and  Calvinistic  family;  and  the 
whole  establishment  had  for  the  last  three  years  been  em- 
ployed on  tapestry  hangings  for  a  whole  suite  of  rooms, 
that  were  to  be  fitted  up  and  hung  'Sfith  the  histories  of 
Ruth,  of  Abigail,  of  the  Shunammite,  and  of  Esther, 
which  their  diligent  needles  might  hope  to  complete  by  the 
time  the  marriage  should  take  place,  three  years  later!  The 
duchess,  who  really  was  not  unlike  "  that  great  woman  " 
the  Shunammite,  in  her  dignified  content  with  "  dwelling 
among  her  own  people,"  and  Iku-  desire  to  "  receive  a 
prophet  in  the  name  of  a  prophet,"  generally  sat  presiding 
over  the  work  while  some  one,  chaplain,  grandson,  or 
young  maiden,  read  aloud  from  carefully  assorted  books; 
religious  treatises  at  certain  hours,  and  at  others,  history. 
Often,  however,  madame  was  called  away  into  her  cabinet, 
where  she  gave  audience  to  intendants,  notaries  from  her 
estates,  pastors  from  the  villages,  captains  of  little  garri- 
sons, soldiers  offering  service,  farmers,  women,  shepherds, 


18S  THE    CHAPL15T    OP    PEARLS. 

foresters,  peasants,  who  came  either  on  her  business  or  with 
tlieir  own  needs — for  all  of  which  she  was  ready  with  the 
beneficence  and  decision  of  an  autocrat. 

The  chapel  had  been  "  purified,"  and  made  bare  of  all 
altar  or  image.  It  was  filled  with  benches  and  a  desk, 
whence  Isaac  Garden,  the  chajilain,  any  pastor  on  a  visit, 
or  sometimes  a  candidate  for  his  promotion,  would  ex- 
pound, and  offer  prayers,  shortly  in  the  week,  more  at 
length  on  Sunday;  and  there,  too,  classes  were  held  for  the 
instruction  of  the  peasants. 

There  was  a  great  garden  full  of  medicinal  plants,  and 
decoctions  and  distilleries  were  the  chief  variety  enjoyed  by 
the  gentlewomen.  The  duchess  had  studied  much  in  quaint 
Latin  and  French  medical  books,  and,  having  great  experi- 
ence and  good  sense,  was  probably  as  good  a  doctor  as  any 
one  in  the  kingdom  except  Ambroise  Pare  and  his  pupils; 
and  she  required  her  ladies  to  practice  under  her  upon  the 
numerous  ailments  that  the  peasants  were  continually 
bringing  for  her  treatment.  No  one  could  tell,"  she 
said,  "  how  soon  they  might  be  dealing  with  gunshot 
wounds,  and  all  ought  to  know  how  to  sew  up  a  gash,  or 
cure  an  ague." 

This  department  suited  Eustacie  much  better  than  tlie 
stitching,  ai]d  best  of  all  she  liked  to  be  sent  with  Maitre 
Isaac  to  some  cottage  where  solace  for  soul  and  body  was 
needed,  and  the  inmate  was  too  ill  to  be  brought  to  Mme. 
la  Duchesse.  She  was  learning  much  and  improving  too  in 
the  orderly  household,  but  her  wanderings  had  made  her 
something  of  a  little  gypsy.  She  now  and  then  was  in- 
tolerably weary,  and  felt  as  if  she  had  been  entirely  spoiled 
for  her  natural  post.  "What  would  become  of  her,"  she 
said  to  Maitre  Isaac,  "  if  she  were  too  grand  to  dress  Ray- 
onette?" 

She  was  not  greatly  distressed  that  the  Montauban  pur- 
suivant turned  out  to  have  only  the  records  of  the  Proven- 
9al  nobility,  and  was  forced  to  communicate  with  his  breth- 
ren at  Bordeaux  before  he  could  bring  down  the  liibau- 
mont  genealogy  to  the  actual  generation;  and  so  slow  was 
communication,  so  tardy  the  mode  of  doing  everything, 
that  the  chestnut  leaves  were  falling  and  autumn  becom- 
ing winter  before  the  blazoned  letter  showed  Pibaumont, 
de  Picardie — "  Gules,  fretty  or,  a  canton  of  the  last,  a  leop- 
ard, sable.     Eustache  Berenger,  m.  Annora,  daughter  and 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  13-1 

heiress  of  Villiam,  Baron  of  Valvem,  in  the  County  of 
Dorisette,  England;,  who  beareth,  azure,  a  syren  regardant 
in  a  mirror  ^^roper."  The  syren  was  drawn  in  all  her  i)ro- 
priety  impaled  with  the  leopard,  and  she  was  so  much  more 
com])rehensible  than  the  names,  to  both  Mme.  de  Quinet 
and  Eustacie,  that  it  was  a  pity  they  could  not  direct  their 
letters  to  her  rather  than  to  "  Le  Baron  de  Valvem/' 
whose  cruel  W's  perplexed  them  so  much.  However,  the 
address  was  the  least  of  Eustacie's  troubles;  she  should  be 
only  too  glad  when  she  got  to  that,  and  she  was  sitting  in 
Maitre  Isaac's  room,  trying  to  make  him  dictate  lit  r  sen- 
tences and  asking  him  how  to  spell  every  tlurd  word,  when 
the  dinner  bell  rang,  and  the  whole  household  dro{)ped 
down  from  salon,  library,  study,  or  chamber  to  the  huge 
hall,  with  its  j^aveuient  of  black  and  white  marble,  and  its 
long  tables,  for  Mme.  de  Quinet  was  no  woman  to  discard 
wholesome  old  practices. 

Then,  as  Eiistacie,  with  Rayonette  trotting  at  her  side, 
and  Maitre  Isaac  leaning  on  her  arm,  slowly  made  her  way 
to  that  high  table  where  dined  Mme.  la  Duchesse,  her 
grandsons,  the  ministers,  the  gentlemen  in  waiting,  and 
some  three  or  four  women  besides  herself,  she  saw  that  the 
lower  end  of  the  great  hall  was  full  of  siliis,  cloths,  and  rib- 
bons heaj^ed  together;  and,  passing  by  the  lengthy  rank  of 
retainers,  she  received  a  bow  and  look  of  recognition  from  a 
dark,  acute-looking  visage  which  she  remembered  to  be- 
long to  the  peddler  she  had  met  at  Charente. 

The  duchess,  at  the  head  of  her  table,  was  not  in  the 
best  of  humors.  Her  son  had  sent  home  letters  by  a  cou- 
rier whom  he  had  picked  up  for  himself  and  she  never  liked 
nor  trusted,  and  he  required  an  immediate  reply  when  she 
particularly  resented  being  hurried.  It  was  a  galujiafre, 
literally  a  hash,  she  said;  for  indeed  most  matters  where 
she  was  not  consulted,  did  become  a  galimafre  with  her. 
Moreover,  under  favor  of  the  courier,  her  porters  had  ad- 
mitted this  peddler,and  the  duchess  greatly  disliked  peddlers. 
All  her  household  stores  were  bought  at  shops  of  good  re- 
pute in  Montauban,  and  no  one  ought  to  be  so  improvi- 
dent as  to  require  dealings  with  these  mountebank  vaga- 
bonds, who  dangled  vanities  before  the  eyes  of  silly  girls, 
and  tilled  their  heads  with  Paris  fashions,  if  they  did  not 
do  still  worse,  and  excite  them  to  the  purchase  of  cosmetics 
and  love-charms. 


134  THE    CSAPLET    OF    MARLS. 

Yet  the  excitement  caused  by  the  approach  of  a  ]3eddler 
was  invincible^,  even  by  Mnie.  la  Duchesse.  It  was  inevi- 
table that  the  crying  need  of  glove,  kerchief,  needle,  or  the 
like,  should  be  discovered  as  soon  as  he  came  within  ken, 
and,  once  in  the  hall,  there  was  no  being  rid  of  him  except 
by  a  flagrant  act  of  inhosjjitality.  This  time,  it  was  worst 
of  all,  for  M.  le  Marquis  himself  must  needs  be  the  first  to 
s[)y  him,  bring  him  in,  and  be  in  want  of  a  silver  chain  for 
liis  hawk;  and  his  brother  the  vicomte  must  follow  him  up 
with  all  manner  of  wants  inspired  by  the  mere  sight  of  the 
pack. 

Every  one  with  the  smallest  sum  of  money  must  buy, 
every  one  without,  inspect  and  assist  in  bargaining;  and  all 
dinner  time,  eyes,  thoughts,  and  words  were  wandering  to 
the  gay  pile  in  the  corner,  or  reckoning  up  needs  and 
means.  The  peddler,  too,  knew  what  a  Calvinist  household 
was,  and  had  been  extremely  discreet,  producing  nothing 
that  could  reasonably  be  objected  to;  and  the  duchess,  see- 
ing that  the  stream  was  too  strong  for  her,  wisely  tried  to 
steer  her  bark  through  it  safely  instead  of  directly  oppos- 
ing it. 

As  soon  as  grace  was  over,  she  called  her  maitre  d 'hotel, 
and  bade  him  look  after  that  (jalimafre,  and  see  that  none 
of  these  fools  were  unreasonably  cheated,  and  that  there 
was  no  attempt  at  gulling  the  young  ones  with  charms  or 
fortune-telling,  as  well  as  to  conclude  the  matter  so  as  to 
give  no  excuse  for  the  Italian  fellow  lingering  to  sup  and 
sleep.  She  then  retired  to  her  cabinet  to  prepare  her  dis- 
patches, which  were  to  include  a  letter  to  Lord  Walwyn. 
Though  a  nominal  friendship  subsisted  between  Elizabeth 
and  the  French  court,  the  Huguenot  chiefs  always  main- 
tained a  correspondence  with  England,  and  there  was  little 
danger  but  that  the  Duke  de  Qiiinet  wotdd  be  able  to  get  a 
letter,  sooner  or  later,  conveyed  to  any  man  of  mark.  In 
the  course  of  her  letter,  Mme.  de  Quinet  found  it  necessary 
to  refer  to  Eustacie,  She  rang  her  little  silver  handbell  for 
the  little  foot-page,  who  usually  waited  outside  her  door. 
He  appeared  not.  She  rang  again,  and  receiving  no  answer, 
opened  her  door  and  sallied  forth,  a  wrathful  dame,  into 
the  hall.  There,  of  course.  Master  Page  had  been  ingulfed 
in  the  (lalimafre,  and  not  only  forming  one  of  the  swarm 
around  the  peddler,  but  was  actually  aping  courtly  grimaces 
as  he  tried  a  delicate  lace  ruffle  on  the  hand  of  a  silly  little 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  105 

smirking  maiden,  no  older  than  himself!  But  this  little 
episode  was,  like  many  others,  overlooked  by  Mnie.  de 
Quinet,  as  her  eye  fell  upon  the  little  figure  of  Ivayonette 
standing  on  the  table,  with  her  mother  and  two  or  three 
ladies  besides  coaxing  her  to  open  her  mouth,  and  show  the 
swollen  gums  .that  had  of  late  been  troubling  her,  while  the 
peddler  was  evidently  expending  his  blandishments  upon 
her. 

The  maitre  d'hotel  was  the  first  to  perceive  his  mistress, 
and,  as  he  approached,  received  a  sharp  rebuke  from  her 
for  allowing  the  fellow  to  produce  his  quack  medicines, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  she  desired  him  to  request  Mme. 
Esperance  to  come  to  her  immediately  on  business.  Eus- 
tacie,  who  always  had  a  certain  self-willed  sense  of  opposi- 
tion when  the  duchess  showed  herself  peremptory  toward 
her,  at  first  began  to  make  answer  that  she  Would  come  as 
soon  as  her  business  was  concluded;  but  the  steward  made 
a  gesture  toward  the  great  lady  sailing  up  and  down  as  she 
paced  the  dais  in  stately  impatience.  "  Good  fellow,"  she 
said,  "  I  will  return  quickly,  and  see  you  again,  though  I 
am  now  interrupted.  Stay  there,  little  one,  with  good 
Mademoiselle  Perrot;  mother  will  soon  be  ba(;k.'" 

Rayonette,  in  her  tooth-fretf ulness,  was  far  from  endur- 
ing to  be  forsaken  so  near  a  strange  man,  and  her  cry  made 
it  necessary  for  Eustacie  to  take  her  in  arms,  and  carry  her 
to  tlie  dais  where  the  ducliess  was  waiting. 

"  So!"  said  the  lady,  "  I  susjjected  that  the  fellow  was  a 
quack  as  well  as  a  cheat.  " 

"  Madame,"  said  Eustacie,  with  spirit,  "  he  sold  mc  un- 
guents that  greatly  relieved  my  father  last  spring." 

"  And  because  rubbing  relieved  an  old  man's  rheumatics, 
you  would  let  a  vagabond  cheat  drug  and  sicken  this  ]ioor 
child  for  what  is  no  ailment  at  all — and  the  teeth  will  relieve 
ill  a  few  days.  Or,  if  she  were  feverish,  have  not  we  decoc- 
tions brewed  from  heaven's  own  pure  herbs  in  the  garden, 
with  no  unknown  ingredient?'^ 

"  Madame,"  said  Eustacie,  ruffling  into  fierceness,  "  you 
are  very  good  to  me;  but  I  must  keep  the  management  of 
my  daughter  to  myself." 

The  duchess  looked  at  her  from  head  to  foot.  Pei'haps  it 
was  with  an  impulse  to  treat  her  imjiertinence  as  she  would 
have  done  that  of  a  dependent;  but  the  old  lady  never  for-* 
got  herself;  she  only  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said,  with 


136  THE    ClIAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

studied  politeness,  "  When  I  unfortunately  interrupted 
your  consultation  with  this  eminent  physician,  it  was  to  cisk 
you  a  question  regarding  this  English  family.  Will  you  do 
me  the  honor  to  enter  my  cabinet?'^ 

And  whereas  no  one  was  looking,  the  old  lady  showed  her 
displeasure  by  ushering  Mme.  de  llibaumont  into  her  cab- 
inet like  a  true  noble  stranger  guest;  so  that  Eustacie  felt 
disconcerted. 

The  d  uchess  then  began  to  read  aloud  her  own  letter  to 
Lord  Walwyn,  pausing  at  every  clause,  so  that  Eustacie 
felt  the  delay  and  discussion  growing  interminable,  and  the 
duchess  then  requested  to  have  Mme.  de  Ribaumont's  own 
letter  at  once,  as  she  wished  to  inclose  it,  make  up  her 
packet,  and  send  it  without  delay.  Opening  a  secret  door 
in  her  cabinet,  she  showed  Eustacie  a  stair  by  which  she 
might  reach  Maitre  Garden's  room  without  crossing  the 
hall.  Eustacie  hoped  to  find  him  there  and  tell  him  how 
intolerable  was  the  duchess;  but,  though  she  found  him,  it 
was  in  company  with  the  tutor,  who  was  spending  an  after- 
noon on  Plato  with  him.  She  could  only  take  uj)  her  letter 
and  retreat  to  madame's  cabinet,  whore  she  had  left  her 
child.  She  finished  it  as  best  she  might,  addressed  it  after 
the  herald's  spelling  of  the  title,  bound  it  with  some  of  the 
duchess's  black  floss  silk— wondering  meanwhile,  but  little 
guessing  tiiat  the  peddler  knew,  where  was  the  tress  tliat 
had  bound  her  last  attempt  at  correspondence,  guessing  least 
of  all  that  that  tress  lay  on  a  heart  still  living  and  throb- 
bing for  her.  All  this  had  made  her  a  little  forget  her  haste 
to  assert  her  liberty  of  action  by  returning  to  the  peddler; 
but,  behold,  when  she  came  back  to  the  hall,  it  had  re- 
sumed its  pristine  soberness,  and  merely  a  few  lingering 
figures  were  to  be  seen,  packing  uj)  their  purchases. 

While  she  was  still  looking  round  in  dismay.  Mile.  Perrot 
came  up  to  her  and  said,  "  Ah!  madame,  you  may  well 
wonder!  I  never  saw  Maitre  Beuoit  there  so  cross;  the  poor 
man  did  but  offer  to  sell  little  Fanchon  the  elixir  that  se- 
cures a  good  husband,  and  'old  Eenoit  descended  on  him 
like  a  griffin  enraged,  would  scarce  give  him  time  to  com- 
pute his  charges  or  pack  his  wares,  but  hustled  him  forth 
like  a  mere  thief!  And  I  missed  my  bargain  for  that 
muffler  that  had  so  taken  my  fancy.  But,  madame,  he 
spoke  to  me  apart,  and  said  you  w^ere  an  old  customer  of 
his,  and  that  rather  than  the  little  angel  should  suffer  with 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    I'EAKLS.  137 

her  teeth,  which  surely  threaten  convulsions,  he  would 
leave  with  you  this  sovereign  remedy  of  sweet  sirup — a 
spoonful  to  be  given  each  night/' 

Eustacie  took  the  little  flask.  She  was  much  inclined  to 
give  the  sirup  by  way  of  jjrecaution,  as  well  as  to  assure 
herself  that  she  was  not  under  the  duchess's  dominion;  but 
some  strong  instinct  of  the  truth  of  the  lady's  words  that 
the  child  was  safer  and  healthier  undoctored,  made  her  re- 
solve at  least  to  defer  it  until  the  httle  one  showed  any 
perilous  symptom.  And  as  happily  Rayonette  only  showed 
two  little  white  teeth,  and  much  greater  good  humor,  the 
sirup  was  nearly  forgotten,  when,  a  fortnight  after,  the 
duchess  received  a  dispatch  from  her  son  which  filled  her 
with  the  utmost  indignation.  The  courier  had  indeed  ar- 
rived, but  the  packet  had  proved  to  be  filled  with  hay  and 
waste  paper.  And  upon  close  examination,  under  the  lash, 
the  courier  had  been  forced  to  confess  to  having  allowed 
himself  to  be  overtaken  by  the  peddler,  and  treated  by  him 
to  a  supper  at  a  cabaret.  'No  doubt,  while  he  was  afterward 
asleep,  the  contents  of  his  packet  had  been  abstracted. 
There  had  been  important  documents  for  the  duke  besides 
Eustacie 's  letters,  and  the  affair  greatly  annoyed  the  duch- 
ess, though  she  had  the  compensation  of  having  been  proved 
perfectly  right  in  her  prejudice  against  peddlers,  and  her 
dislike  of  her  son's  courier.  She  sent  for  Eustacie  to  tell 
her  privately  of  the  loss,  and  of  course  the  young  mother  at 
once  turned  pale  and  exclaimed,  "  The  wicked  one!  Ah! 
what  a  blessing  that  I  gave  my  little  darling  none  of  his 
dose!" 

"  Hein  ?  You  had  some  from  him  then!"  demanded  the 
duchess  with  displeasure. 

"  No,  madame,  thanks,  thtuiks,  to  you.  Oh!  I  never 
will  be  self-willed  and  naughty  again.  Forgive  me, 
madame,"  And  down  she  dropped  on  her  knee,  with 
clasped  hands  and  glistening  eyes. 

"  Forgive  you,  silly  child,  for  what?"  said  Mme.  de 
Qui  net,  nearly  laughing. 

"Ah!  for  the  angry,  passionate  thoughts  I  had!  Ah! 
madame,  I  was  all  but  giving  the  stuff  to  my  little  angel 
in  very  spite — and  then — "  Eustacie's  voice  was  drowned 
in  a  passion  of  tears,  and  she  devoured  the  old  lady's  hand 
with  her  kisses. 

"  Comej  come,"  said  the  duchess,  "let  us  be  reason- 


138  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

able.    A  man  may  be  a  thief,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  he 
is  a  poisoner." 

"  Nay,  that  will  we  see,"  cried  Eustacie.  "  lie  was  re- 
solved that  the  little  lamb  should  not  escape,  and  he  left  a 
flask  for  her  witli  Mademoiselle  i'errot.  I  will  fetch  it,  if 
madame  will  give  me  leave.  Oh,  the  great  mercy  of  Heaven 
that  made  her  so  well  that  I  gave  her  none!" 

Mine,  de  Quinet's  analytic  powers  did  not  go  very  far, 
and  would  probably  have  decided  against  the  sirup  if  it 
had  been  nothing  but  virgin  honey.  She  was  one  who  fully 
believed  that  her  dear  Queen  Jeanne  had  been  poisoned 
with  a  pair  of  gloves,  and  she  had  unlimited  faith  in  the 
powers  of  evil  possessed  by  Kene  of  Milan.  Of  course,  she 
detected  the  presence  of  a  slow  poison,  whose  effects  would 
have  been  attributed  to  the  ailment  it  was  meant  to  cure; 
and  though  her  evidence  was  insufficient,  she  probably  did 
Ercole  no  injustice.  She  declined  testing  the  compound  on 
any  iintortunate  dog  or  cat, .but  sealed  it  up  in  the  presence 
of  Gardon,  Eustacie,  and  Mile.  Perrot,  to  be  23roduced 
against  the  peddler  if  ever  he  should  be  caught. 

Then  she  asked  Eustacie  if  there  was  any  reason  to  sus- 
pect that  he  recognized  her.  Eustacie  related  the  former 
dealings  with  him,  when  she  had  sold  him  her  jewels  and 
her  hair,  but  she  had  no  notion  of  his  being  the  same  per- 
son whom  she  had  seen  when  at  Montjjipeau.  Indeed,  he 
had  altered  his  appearance  so  much  that  he  had  been  only 
discovered  at  Nid-de-Merle  by  eyes  sharpened  by  distrust  of 
his  pretensions  to  magic  arts. 

Mme.  de  Quinet,  however,  concluded  that  Eustacie  had 
been  known,  or  else  that  her  jewels  had  betra3^ed  her,  and 
that  the  man  must  have  been  employed  by  her  enemies. 
If  it  had  not  been  the  dejjth  of  winter,  she  would  have  pro- 
vided for  the  jDcrsecuted  lady's  immediate  transmission  to 
England;  but  the  storms  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay  Avould  have 
made  this  impossible  in  the  state  of  French  navigation, 
even  if  Isaac  Gardon  had  been  in  a  condition  to  move;  for 
the  first  return  of  cold  had  brought  back  severe  rheumatic 
pains,  and  with  them  came  a  shortness  of  breath,  which 
even  the  duchess  did  not  know  to  be  the  token  of  heart 
complaint.  He  was  confined  to  his  room,  and  it  was 
kneeling  by  his  bedside  that  Eustacie  poin-ed  out  her  thank- 
fulness for  her  child's  jireservation,  and  her  own  repentance 
for  the  passing  fit  of  self-will  and  petulance.     The  thought 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  139 

of  Eayonette's  safety  seemed  absolutely  to  extinguish  the 
fresh  anxiety  that  had  arisen  since  it  had  become  evident 
that  her  enemies  no  longer  suijposed  her  dead,  but  were 
probably  u])on  her  traces.  Somehow,  danger  had  become 
almost  a  natural  element  to  her,  and  having  once  exjDressed 
her  firm  resolution  that  nothing  should  separate  her  from 
her  adopted  father,  to  whom  indeed  her  care  became  con- 
stantly more  necessary,  she  seemed  to  occupy  herself  very 
little  with  the  matter;  she  nursed  him  as  cheerfully  and 
fondly,  and  played  with  IJayonette  as  merrily  as  ever,  and 
left  to  him  and  Mme.  de  Quinet  the  grave  consultations  as 
to  what  was  to  be  done  for  her  security.  There  was  a  sort 
of  natural  buoyancy  about  her  that  never  realized  a  danger 
till  it  came,  and  then  her  spirit  was  roused  to  meet  it. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVI. 

SPELL  AND   POTION". 

Churl,  upon  thy  eyes  I  throw 

All  the  power  this  charm  doth  owe. 

Midmmmer  Night's  Dream. 

Her  rival  lived!  The  tidings  could  not  but  be  communi- 
cated to  Diane  de  Selinvillc,  when  her  father  set  out  en 
(jrande  tennc  to  demand  his  niece  fi'om  the  Dulve  de 
Quinet.  'J'his,  however,  was  not  till  spring  was  advancing; 
for  the  peddler  had  not  been  able  to  take  a  direct  route  back 
to  Nid-de-Merle,  since  his  first  measure  had  necessarily 
been  to  escape  into  a  province  where  the  abstraction  of  a 
Huguenot  nobleman's  dispatches  would  be  considered  as  a 
meritorious  action.  Winter  weather,  and  the  practice  of 
his  profession  likewise,  delayed  Ercole  so  much  that  it  was 
nearly  Easter  before  he  brought  his  certain  intelligence  to 
the  chevalier,  and  to  the  lady  an  elixir  of  love,  clear  and 
colorless  as  crystal,  and  infallible  as  an  inspirer  of  affec- 
tion. 

Should  she  administer  it,  now  that  she  knew  her  cousin 
not  to  be  the  lawful  object  of  affection  she  had  so  long 
esteemed  him,  but,  as  he  persisted  in  considering  himself, 
a  married  man?  Diane  had  more  scru[)les  than  she  would 
have  had  a  year  before,  for  she  had  not  so  long  watched 
and  loved  one  so  true  ami  conscientious  as  Berenger  de 


140  THE  CHAPIET  OF  PEARLS. 

Ribaumont  without  having  her  perce25tions  elevated;  but 
at  the  same  time  the  j^assion  of  love  had  become  intensified, 
both  by  long  continuance  and  by  resistance.  She  had  at- 
tached herself,  believing  him  free,  and  her  affections  could 
not  be  disentangled  by  learning  that  he  was  bound — rather 
the  contrary. 

Besides,  tbere  was  plenty  of  soi^histry.  Her  father  had 
always  assured  her  of  the  invalidity  of  the  marriage,  with- 
out thinking  it  necessary  to  dwell  on  his  own  arrangements 
for  making  it  invalid,  so  that  was  no  reasonable  ground  of 
objection;  and  a  lady  of  Diane's  period,  living  in  the  world 
where  she  had  lived,  would  have  had  no  notion  of  objectijig 
to  her  lover  for  a  previous  amour,  and  as  such  was  she 
bidden  to  rank  Berenger's  relations  with  Eustacie.  And 
there  was  the  less  scruple  on  Eustacie's  account,  because 
the  chevalier,  knowing  that  the  duchess  had  a  son  and  two 
grandsons,  had  conceived  a  great  terror  that  she  meant  to 
give  his  niece  to  one  of  them;  and  this  would  be  infinitely 
worse,  both  for  the  interests  of  the  family  and  of  their  party, 
than  even  her  reunion  witli  the  young  baron.  Even  Nar- 
cisse,  who  on  his  return  had  written  to  Paris  a  grudging 
consent  to  the  experiment  of  his  father  and  sister,  had 
allowed  that  the  preservation  of  Berenger's  life  was  needful 
till  Eustacie  should  be  in  their  power  so  as  to  prevent  such 
a  marriage  as  that!  To  Diane,  the  very  suggestion  became 
certainty:  she  already  saw  Eustacie's  shallow  little  heart 
consoled  and  her  vanity  excited  by  these  magnificent  pros- 
jiects,  and  she  looked  forward  to  the  triumph  of  her  own 
constancy,  when  Berengei-  should  find  the  image  so  long 
enshrined  in  his  heart  crumble  in  its  sacred  niche. 

Yet  a  little  while  then  would  she  be  patient,  even  though 
nearly  a  year  had  passed  and  still  she  saw  no  effect  upon 
her  prisoners,  unless,  indeed,  Philip  had  drunk  of  one  of 
her  potions  by  mistake  and  his  clumsy  admiration  was  the 
consequence.  The  two  youths  went  on  exactly  in  the  same 
manner,  without  a  complaint,  without  a  request,  occujiy- 
ing  themselves  as  best  they  might — Berenger  courteously 
attentive  to  her  father,  and  coldly  courteous  to  herself.  He 
had  entirely  recovered  his  health,  and  the  athletic  powers 
disjilayed  by  the  two  brothers  when  wrestling,  fencing  or 
snow-balling  in  the  court-yard,  were  the  amazement  and 
envy  of  their  guard.  Twice  in  the  course  of  the  winter 
there  had  been  au  alarm  of  wolves,  and  in  their  eagerness 


THE  CHArLET  OF  PEARLS.  141 

and  excitement  about  this  new  sport,  they  had  accepted  the 
chevaher's  olTer  of  taking  their  parole  for  the  hunt.  They 
had  then  gone  forth  with  a  huge  posse  of  villagers,  who 
beat  tlie  woods  witli  their  dogs  till  the  beast  was  aroused 
from  its  lair  and  driven  into  the  alleys,  where  waited  gen- 
tlemen, gendarmes  and  gamekeepers  with  their  guns. 
These  two  chases  were  chiefly  memorable  to  Berenger,  be- 
cause in  the  universal  intermingling  of  shouting  peasants 
he  was  able  in  the  first  to  have  some  conversation  with 
Eustacie's  faithful  protector  Martin,  who  told  him  the  in- 
cidents of  her  wanderings,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
blessed  him  for  his  faith  that  she  was  not  dead;  and  in  the 
second,  he  actually  found  himself  in  the  ravine  of  the 
Grange  du  Temple.  No  need  to  ask,  every  voice  was  shout- 
ing the  name,  and  though  the  gendarmes  were  round  him 
and  he  durst  not  speak  to  Eotrou,  still  he  could  reply  with 
significative  earnestness  to  the  low  bow  with  which  the 
farmer  bent  to  evident  certainty  that  here  was  the  im- 
prisoned Protestant  husband  of  the  poor  lady.  Berenger 
wore  his  black  visor  mask  as  had  been  required  of  him, 
but  the  man's  eyes  followed  him,  as  though  learning  by 
heart  the  outline  of  his  tall  figure.  1'he  object  of, the 
chevalier's  journey  was,  of  course,  a  secret  from  the 
prisoners,  who  merely  felt  its  effects  by  having  their  meals 
served  to  them  in  their  own  tower;  and  when  he  returned 
after  about  a  month's  absence  thought  him  looking 
harassed,  aged,  and  so  much  out  of  humor  that  he  could 
scarcely  preserve  his  usual  politeness.  In  effect  he  was 
greatly  chagrined. 

"  That  she  is  in  their  hands  is  certain,  the  hypocrites!" 
he  said  to  his  daughter  and  sister;  "  and  no  less  so  that 
they  have  designs  on  her;  but  I  let  them  know  that  these 
could  be  easily  traversed. " 

"  But  where  is  she,  the  unhappy  apostate  child?"  said 
the  abbess.     "  They  durst  not  refuse  her  to  you." 

"  I  tell  you  they  denied  all  present  knowledge  of  her. 
The  duke  himself  had  the  face  to  make  as  though  he 
never  heard  of  her.  He  had  no  concern  with  his  mother's 
household  and  guests  forsooth!  I  do  not  believe  he  has; 
the  poor  fellow  stands  in  awe  of  that  terrible  old  heretic 
dragon,  and  keeps  aloof  from  her  as  much  as  he  can.  But 
he  is,  after  all,  a  lean  jenne  liominc;  nor  should  I  be  sur- 
prised if  he  were  the  girl's  gay  bridegroom  by  this  time. 


143  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

though  I  gave  him  a  hint  that  there  was  an  entanglement 
about  the  child's  first  marriage  which,  hy  French  law, 
would  invalidate  any  other  without  a  disi^ensation  from  the 
Pope. " 

"  A  hard  nut  that  for  a  heretic,"  laughed  the  abbess. 

"  He  acted  the  ignorant — knew  nothing  about  tbe  young 
lady;  but  had  the  civility  to  give  me  a  guide  and  an  escort 
to  go  to  Quinet.  Ma  foi !  I  believe  they  were  given  to 
hinder  me— take  me  by  indirect  roads,  make  me  lose  time 
at  chateaux.  When  I  arrived  at  the  grim  old  cbateau — a 
true  dungeon,  jjrecise  as  a  convent — there  was  the  dame, 
playing  the  Queen  Jeanne  as  well  as  she  could,  and  having 
the  insolence  to  tell  me  that  it  was  true  that  Madame  la 
Baronne  de  Eibaumont,  as  she  was  jileased  to  call  her,  had 
honored  her  residence  for  some  months,  but  that  she  had 
now  quitted  it,  and  she  flatly  refused  to  answer  any  question 
whither  she  was  gone!  The  hag!  she  might  at  least  have 
had  the  decorum  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  her,  but  nothing 
is  more  impertinent  than  tlie  hyi^ocritical  sincerity  of  the 
heretics.'^ 

"  But  her  people,''  exclaimed  the  abbess;  "  surely  some 
of  them  knew,  and  could  be  brought  to  speak." 

"  All  the  servants  I  came  in  contact  with  j^layed  the  in- 
corruptible; but  still  I  have  done  something.  There  were 
some  fellows  in  the  village  who  are  not  at  their  ease  under 
that  rule.  I  caused  my  people  to  inquire  them  out.  They 
knew  nothing  more  than  that  the  old  heretic  Gardon  with 
his  family  had  gone  away  in  Madame  la  Duchesse's  litter, 
but  whither  they  could  not  tell.  But  the  calurcticr  there 
is  furious  secretly  with  the  Quinets  for  having  spoiled  his 
trade  by  destroying  the  shrine  at  the  holy  well,  and  I  have 
made  him  understand  that  it  will  be  for  his  profit  to  send 
me  off  intelligence  so  soon  as  there  is  any  communication 
between  them  and  the  lady.  I  made  the  same  arrangement 
with  a  couple  of  gendarmes  of  the  escort  the  duke  gave 
me.  80  at  least  we  are  safe  for  intelligence  such  as  would 
hinder  a  marriage." 

"  But  they  will  be  off  to  England!"  said  the  abbess. 

"  I  wager  they  will  again  write  to  make  sure  of  a  reception. 
Moreover,  I  have  set  that  fellow  Ercole  and  others  of  his 
trade  to  keep  a  strict  watcli  on  all  the  roads  leading  to  the 
ports,  and  give  me  due  notice  of  their  passing  thither. 
We  have  law  on  our  side,  and,  did  I  once  claim  her,  no  one 


THE    ClIAPLET    OF    I'EARtS.  14-1 

could  resist  my  right.  Or  sliould  the  war  break  out,  as  is 
probable,  then  could  my  son  svvee^o  their  whole  province 
with  his  troops.     This  time  she  can  not  escape  us. " 

The  scene  that  her  father's  words  and  her  own  imagina- 
tion  conjured    up,  of   Eustacie   attracting   the   handsome 
widower-duke,  removed  all  remaining  scruples  from  Mme. 
de  Selinville.     For  his  own  sake,  the  baron  must  be  made 
to  fulfill  the  prophecy  of  the  ink-pool,  and  allow  his  prison 
doors  to  be  ojoened  by  love.     Many  and  many  a  tender  art 
did   Diane  rehearse;    numerous  were  her  sighs;  wakeful, 
languishing   and   restless   her  nights  and  days;    and  yet, 
whatever  her  determination  to  practice  upon  her  cousin  the 
witcheries  that  she  had  learned  in  the  Escadron  dela  Rcine- 
7nere,  and  seen  played  otf  effectually  where  there  was  not 
one  grain  of  love  to  inspire  them,  her  powers  and  her  cour- 
age always  failed  her  in  the  presence  of  him  whom  she 
sought  to  attract.     His  quiet  reserve  and  simplicity  always 
disconcerted  her,  and  any  attempt  at  blandishment  that  he 
could  not  mistake  was  always  treated  by  him  as  necessarily 
an  accidental  error,  as  if  any  other  su23position  would  ren- 
der her  despicable;  and  yet  there  was  now  and  then  a  some- 
thing that  made  her  detect  an  effort  in  his  restraint,  as  if  it 
were  less  distaste  than  self-command.     Her  brother  had 
contemjjtuously  acquiesced  in  the  experiment  made  by  her- 
self and  her  father,  and  allowed  that  so  long  as  there  was 
any  danger  of  the  Quinet  marriage,  the  baron's  existence 
was  needful.     He  would  not  come  to  Nid-de-Merle,   nor 
did  they  want  him   there,  knowing  that  he  could  hardly 
have  kejjt  his  hands  off  his  rival.     But  when  the  war  broke 
out  again  in   the  summer  of   1575  he  joined  that  detach- 
ment of  Guise's  army  which  hovered  about  tlie  Loire,  and 
kept  watch  on  the  Huguenot  cities  and  provinces  of  Western 
France.     The  chevalier  made  several  expeditions  to  confer 
with  his  son,  and  to  keep  up  his  relations  with  the  net-work 
of  spies  whom  he  had  spread  over  the  Quinet  provinces. 
The  prisoners  were  so  much  sei^arated  from  all  intercourse 
with  the  dependents  that  they  were  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
object  of  his  absence  from  home.     On  these  occasions  they 
never  left  their  tower  and  its  court,  and  had  no  enliven- 
ment  save  an  occasional  gift  of  dainties  or  message  of  in- 
quiry from  the  ladies  at  Bellaise.     These  were  brought  by 
a  handsome  but  slight,  pale  lad  called  Aime  de  Selinville, 
a  relative  of  the  late  coimt,  as  he  told  them,  who  had  come 


144  THE  CSAPLET  OP    fEARLS. 

to  act  as  M  gentleman  attendant  upon  the  widowed  count- 
ess. The  brothers  rather  wondered  how  he  was  disposed  of 
at  the  convent,  but  all  there  was  so  contrary  to  their  pre- 
conceived notions  that  they  acquiesced.  The  first  time  he 
arrived  it  was  on  a  long,  liot  summer  day,  and  he  then 
brought  them  a  cool  iced  sherbet  in  two  separate  flasks, 
that  for  Phihp  being  mixed  with  wine,  which  was  omitted 
for  Berenger;  and  the  youth  stood  lingering  and  watching, 
anxious,  he  said,  to  be  able  to  tell  his  lady  how  the  drinks 
were  approved.  Both  were  excellent,  and  to  that  eflfect 
the  prisoners  replied;  but  no  sooner  was  the  messenger 
gone  than  Berenger  said  smilingly,  "  That  was  a  love 
potion,  Phil. " 

"  And  you  drank  it  I"  cried  Philip,  in  horror. 

"  I  did  not  think  of  it  till  I  saw  how  the  boy's  eyes  were 
gazing  curiously  at  me  as  I  swallowed  it.  You  look  at  me 
as  curiously,  Phil.  Are  you  expecting  it  to  work?  Shall 
I  be  at  the  fair  lady's  feet  next  time  we  meet?" 

"  How  can  you  defy  it.  Berry?" 

"  Nay,  Phil;  holy  wedded  love  is  not  to  be  dispelled  by  a 
mountebank's  decoction." 

"  But  suppose  it  were  poisonous.  Berry,  what  can  be 
done?"  cried  Philip,  starting  up  in  dismay. 

"  Then  you  would  go  home,  Phil,  and  this  would  be 
over.  But  " — seeing  his  brother's  terror — "  there  is  no 
fear  of  that.     She  is  not  like  to  wish  to  jioison  me. " 

And  the  potion  proved  equally  ineffective  on  mind  and 
body,  as  indeed  did  all  the  manipulations  exercised  upon  a 
little  waxen  image  that  was  supposed  to  represent  M.  le 
Baron.  Another  figure  was  offered  to  Diane,  in  feminine 
form,  with  black  beads  for  eyes  and  a  black  plaster  for  hair, 
which,  when  stuck  full  of  pins  and  roasted  before  the  fire, 
was  to  cause  Eustacie  to  peak  and  pine  correspondingly. 
But  from  this  measure  Diane  shrunk.  If  aught  was  done 
against  her  rival  it  must  be  by  her  father  and  brother,  not 
by  herself;  and  she  would  not  feel  herself  directly  hijuring 
her  little  cousin,  nor  sinking  herself  below  him  whom  she 
loved.  Once  his  wife,  she  would  be  good  forever,  held  up 
by  his  strength. 

Meantime  Berenger  had  received  a  greater  shock  than 
she  or  her  father  understood  in  the  looking  over  of  some  of 
the  family  parchments  kept  in  store  at  the  castle.  The 
chevalier,  in  showing  them  to  him,  had  chiefly  desired  to 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  145 

glorify  the  family  by  demonstrating  how  its  honors  had 
been  won,  but  Berenger  was  startled   at  finding  that  !Nid- 
de-Merle  had  been,  as  it  appeared   to  him,  arbitrarily  and 
unjustly  declared  to  be  forfeited  by  the  Sieur  de  Bellaise, 
who  had  been  thrown  hito  prison  by  Louis  XL  for  some 
demonstration  in  favor  of  the  poor  Luke  de  Berri,  and 
granted  to  the  favorite  liibaumont.     The  original  grant 
was  there,  and  to  his  surprise  he  found  it  was  to  male  heirs 
— 'She  male  heirs  alone  of  the  direct  line  of  the  liibaumont 
— to  whom  the  grant  was  made.     How,  then,  came  it  to 
Eustacie?     The  disposal  had,  with  almost  equal  injustice, 
been  changed  by  King  Henry  11.    and  the  late  Count  de 
Ribaumont  in  favor  of  the  little  daughter  whose  union  with 
the  heir  of  the  elder  line  was  to  conclude  all  family  feuds. 
Only  now  did  Berenger  understand  what  his  father  had 
said  on  his  death-bed  of  flagrant  injustice  committed  in  his 
days  of  darkness.     He  felt  that  he  was  reaping  the  reward 
of  the  injuries  committed  against  the  chevalier  and  his  son 
on  behalf  of  the  two  unconscious  children.   He  would  will- 
ingly at  once  have  given  up  all  claim  to  the  Nid-de-Merle 
estate — and  he  was  now  of  age;  two  birthdays  had  passed 
in  his  captivity  and   brought  him  to  years  of  discretion — 
but  he  had  no  more  power  than  before  to  dispose  of  what 
was  the  jjroperty  of  Eustacie  and  her  child;  and  the  whole 
question  of  the  validity  of  his  marriage  would  be  given  up 
by  his  yielding  even  the  j^osthumous  claim  that  might  have 
devolved  on  him  in  case  of  Eustacie 's  death.     Tliis  would 
be  giving  uj)  her  honor,  a  thing  impossible. 

"  Alas!"  he  sighed,  "  my  poor  father  might  well  say  he 
had  bound  a  heavy  burden  round  my  neck." 

And  from  that  time  his  hopes  sunk  lower  as  the  sense  of 
the  justice  of  his  cause  left  him.  He  could  neither  deny 
his  religion  nor  his  marriage,  and  therefore  could  do  noth- 
ing for  his  own  deliverance;  and  he  knew  himself  to  be 
sutfering  in  the  cause  of  a  great  injustice;  indeed,  to  be 
bringing  suffering  on  the  still  more  innocent  Philip. 

The  once  proudly  indifferent  youth  was  flagging  now; 
was  losing  appetite,  flesh,  and  color;  was  unwilling  to  talk 
or  to  take  exercise;  and  had  a  wan  and  drooping  air  that 
was  most  painful  to  watch.  It  seemed  as  if  the  return  of 
summer  brought  a  sense  of  the  length  and  weariness  of  the 
captivity,  and  that  the  sunshine  and  ga^yety  of  the  land- 
scape hatl  become  such  a  contrast  to  the  captives'  deadness 


146  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEAHLS. 

of  spirit  tliat  they  could  hardly  bear  to  behold  them,  and 
felt  the  dull  prison  walls  more  congenial  to  their  feelings 
than  the  gayety  of  the  summer  hay  and  harvest-fields. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII.  '       ; 

-■  BEATING  AGAINST  THE  BARS. 

My  horse  is  weary  of  the  stall, 
And  I  am  sick  of  captive  thrall. 

Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Letters!  They  were  hailed  like  drops  of  water  in  a 
thirsty  land.  Ko  doubt  they  had  been  long  on  the  way, 
ere  they  had  reached  the  hands  of  the  Chevalier  de  Eibau- 
mont,  and  it  was  cjuite  possible  that  they  had  been  read  and 
selected ;  but,,  as  Berenger  said,  he  defied  any  Frenchman 
to  imitate  either  Lord  Walwyn's  style  or  Sir  Marmaduke's, 
and  when  late  in  the  autumn  the  packet  was  delivered  to 
him,  the  two  captives  gloated  over  the  very  outsides  before 
they  ojjened  them. 

The  first  intelligence  that  greeted  them  made  them  give 
a  cry  of  amusement  and  surprise.  Lady  Thistle  wood, 
whose  regrets  that  each  of  her  girls  was  not  a  boy  had 
passed  into  a  proverb,  had  at  length,  in  Dolly's  seventh 
year,  given  birth  to  a  son  on  Midsummer-day. 

"  Well,"  said  Phili]?,  sighing,  "  we  must  drink  his  health 
to-night!  It  is  well,  if  we  are  to  rot  here,  that  some  one 
should  make  it  up  to  them!" 

"  And  join  Walwyn  and  Hurst!"  said  Berenger;  and 
then  both  faces  grew  much  graver,  as  by  these  letters,  dated 
three  months  since,  they  understood  how  many  they  must 
have  missed,  and  likewise  that  nothing  had  been  heard  of 
themselves  since  they  had  left  Paris  sixteen  months  ago. 
Their  letters,  both  to  their  relations  and  to  Sir  Francis 
Walsingham,  had  evidently  been  suppressed;  and  Lord 
North,  who  had  succeeded  Walsingham  as  embassador, 
had  probably  been  misled  by  design,  eitlier  by  Narcisse  de 
Nid-de-Merle  himself,  or  by  some  of  his  agents,  for  Lord 
Walwyn  had  heard  from  him  that  the  young  men  were 
loitering  among  the  castles  and  garrisons  of  Anjou,  leading 
a  gay  and  dissipated  life,  and  tliat  it  was  luuversally  be- 
lieved that  the  Baron  de  Eibaumont  had  embraced  the 
Catholic  faith,  and  would  shortly  be  presented  to  Henry 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  147 

III.  to  receive  the  grant  of  tlic  Scliiivillo  honors,  upon  liis 
niarriiige  with  liis  cousin,  tiic  widow  of  tliu  hist  of  the  line. 
With  much  earnestness  and  sorrow  did  good  old  Lord 
Walwyn  write  to  his  grandson,  conjuring  him  to  bethink 
himself  of  his  home,  his  pure  faith,  his  loving  friends,  and 
the  hopes  of  liis  youth:  and,  at  least,  if  he  himself  had  been 
led  away  by  the  allurements  of  the  other  party,  to  remem- 
ber that  Philip  had  been  intrusted  to  him  in  full  confi- 
dence, and  to  return  him  to  his  home.  "  It  was  grief  and 
shame  to  him,'"  said  the  good  old  man,  "  to  look  at  Sir 
Marmaduke,  who  had  risked  his  son  in  the  charge  of  one 
hitherto  deemed  trustworthy;  and  even  if  Berenger  had  in- 
deed forgotten  and  cast  away  those  whom  he  had  once 
seemed  to  regard  with  love  and  duty,  he  commanded  him 
to  send  home  Philii3,  who  owed  an  obedience  to  his  father 
that  could  not  be  gainsayed. '"  Lord  Walwyn  further  bade 
his  grandson  remember  that  the  arrangements  respecting 
his  inheritance  had  been  made  in  confidence  that  his  heir 
was  English  in  heart  and  faith,  aud  that  neither  the  queen 
nor  his  own  conscience  would  allow  him  to  let  his  inherit- 
ance pass  into  French  or  Papist  hands.  There  was  scarcely 
a  direct  reproach,  but  the  shaken,  altered  handwriting 
showed  how  stricken  the  aged  man  must  be;  and  after  his 
signature  was  added  one  still  more  trembling  line,  "  An 
ye  return  not  speedily,  ye  will  never  see  the  old  grandsire 
more."" 

Berenger  scarcely  finished  the  letter  through  his  burning 
tears  of  agony,  and  then,  casting  it  from  him,  began  to 
pace  the  room  in  fierce  agitation,  bursting  out  into  incoher- 
ent exclamations,  grasping  at  his  hair,  even  launching 
liimself  against  the  massive  window  with  such  frenzied 
gestures  and  wild  words  that  Philij),  who  had  read  through 
all  with  his  usual  silent  obtuseness,  became  dismayed,  and, 
laying  hold  of  him,  said,  "  Prithee,  brother,  do  not  thus! 
What  serves  such  passion?" 

Berenger  burst  into  a  strange  loud  laugh  at  the  matter- 
of-fact  toire.  "  What  serves  it!  Avliat  serves  anything!"  he 
cried,  "  but  to  make  me  feel  what  a  miserable  wretch  I 
am?  But  he  will  die,  Philip — he  will  die — not  having  be- 
lieved me!  How  shall  we  keep  ourselves  from  the  smooth- 
tongued villain's  throat?  That  I  should  be  thus  judged  a 
traitor  by  my  grandfatiier — " 

And  with  a  cry  as  of  bodily  anguish,  he  hid  his  face  ou 


148  THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEAELS. 

the  table,  and  groaned  as  he  felt  the  utter  helplessness  of 
his  strong  youth  in  bonds. 

"  It  can't  be  helped/'  was  the  next  of  the  unconsolatory 
platitudes  uttered  by  Philip,  who  always  grew  sullen  and 
dogged  when  his  brother's  French  temperament  broke  forth 
under  any  sudden  stroke.  "  If  they  will  believe  such 
things,  let  them!  You  have  not  heard  what  my  father  says 
to  it. " 

"  It  will  be  all  the  same,"  groaned  Berenger. 

"  Nay!  now  that's  a  foul  slander,  and  you  should  be 
ashamed  of  doing  my  father  such  wrong,"  said  Philip. 
"  Listen;"  and  he  read:  "  I  will  believe  no  ill  of  the  lad 
no  more  than  of  thee,  Phil.  It  is  but  a  wild-goose  chase, 
and  the  poor  young  woman  is  scarce  like  to  be  above 
ground;  but,  as  I  daily  tell  them,  'tis  hard  a  man  shovdd 
forfeit  his  land  for  seeking  his  wife.  My  Lord  North  sends 
rumors  that  he  is  under  Papist  guiding,  and  sworn  brother 
Avith  the  Black  Eibaumonts;  and  my  lady,  his  grandmoth- 
er, is  like  to  break  her  heart,  and  my  lord  credits  them 
more  than  he  ought,  and  never  a  line  as  a  token  comes  from 
you.  Then  there's  Dame  Annora  as  joroud  of  the  babe  as 
though  neither  she  nor  woman  born  ever  had  a  son  before, 
and  plains  over  him,  that  both  his  brothers  should  be  en- 
dowed and  he  but  a  younger  son.  What  will  be  the  end 
on't  I  can  not  tell.  I  will  stand  up  for  the  right  as  best 
man  may  do,  and  never  forget  that  Berry  is  her  first-born, 
and  that  his  child  may  be  living;  but  the  matter  is  none  of 
mine,  and  my  lord  is  very  aged,  nor  can  a  man  meddle  be- 
tween his  wife  and  her  father.  So  this  I  tell  you  that  you 
may  make  your  brother  lay  it  to  heart.  The  sooner  he  is 
here  the  better,  if  he  be  still,  as  I  verily  believe  and  main- 
tain him  to  be,  an  honest  English  heart  that  snaps  his  fin- 
gers at  French  papistry."  "There,"  concluded  Philip, 
triumphantly,  "  he  knows  an  honest  man!  He's  friend  and 
good  father  to  you  as  much  as  ever.  Heed  none  of  the 
rest.     He'll  never  let  this  little  rogue  stand  in  your  light. " 

"As  if  I  cared  for  that!"  said  Berenger,  begiiniing  his 
caged-tiger  walk  again,  and,  though  he  tried  to  repress  his 
anguish,  breaking  out  at  times  into  fierce  revilings  of  the 
cruel  toils  that  beset  him,  and  despairing  lamentations  over 
those  beloved  ones  at  home,  with  sobs,  groans  and  tears, 
such  as  Philip  could  not  brook  to  witness,  both  because  they 
were  so  violent  and  mournful,  and  because  he  thought  them 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  149 

womanish,  though  in  effect  no  woman's  grief  could  have 
had  lialf  that  despairing  force.  The  /?e;'/e  of  tlie  French 
noble,  however,  en  me  to  his  aid.  At  the  first  sound  of  the 
great  supper  bell  he  dashed  away  his  tears,  comjwsed  his 
features,  washed  his  face,  and  demanded  haughtily  of  Phili]), 
whether  there  were  any  traces  in  his  looks  that  the  cruel 
hypocrite,  their  jailer,  could  gloat  over. 

And  with  proud  step  and  indifferent  air  he  marched  into 
the  hall,  answered  the  chevalier's  polite  inquiry  whether 
the  letter  had  brought  good  tidings  by  coolly  thanking  him 
and  saying  that  all  at  home  were  well;  and  when  he  met 
the  old  man's  inquiring  glance  out  of  the  little  keen  black 
bead  in  the  puckered,  withered  eyelid,  he  put  a  perfectly 
stony  unmeaningness  into  his  own  gaze,  till  his  eyes  looked 
like  the  blue  porcelain  from  China  so  much  prized  by  the 
abbess.  He  even  played  at  chess  all  the  evening  with  such 
concentrated  attention  as  to  be  uniformly  victorious. 

Yet  half  the  night  Philip  heard  sujipressed  moans  and 
sobs — then  knew  that  he  was  on  his  knees — then,  after 
long  and  comparatively  silent  weeping,  he  lay  down  again, 
and  from  the  hour  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  he  re- 
turned no  more  to  the  letters;  and  though  for  some  little 
time  more  sad  and  dispirited,  he  seemed  to  have  come  to 
regard  the  misjudgment  at  home  as  a  part  of  the  burden 
he  was  already  bearing. 

That  burden  was,  however,  pressing  more  heavily.  The 
temperaments  of  the  two  brothers  so  differed  that  while  the 
French  one  was  prostrated  by  the  agony  of  a  stroke,  and 
then  rallied  patiently  to  endure  the  effects,  the  English 
character  opposed  a  jiassive  resistance  to  the  blow,  gave  no 
sign  of  grief  or  pain,  and  from  that  very  determination 
suffered  a  sort  of  exhaustion  that  made  the  effects  of  the 
evil  more  and  more  felt.  Thus,  from  the  time  Philiji's 
somewhat  tardy  imagination  had  been  made  to  realize  his 
home,  his  father,  and  his  sisters,  the  home-sickness  and 
weariness  of  his  captivity,  whicli  had  already  begun  to  un- 
dermine his  health  and  spirits,  took  increasing  effect. 

He  made  no  comphiint — he  never  expressed  a  wish — but, 
in  the  words  of  the  prophet,  he  seemed  "  joining  away  on 
his  feet. "  He  did  not  sleep,  and  though,  to  avoid  remark, 
he  never  failed  to  a])pear  at  meals,  he  scarcely  tasted  food. 
He  never  willingly  stirred  from  cowering  over  the  fire,  and 
was  so  surly  and  ill-tempered  that  only  Berenger's  unfail- 


150  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAttLS. 

ing  good  humor  could  have  endured  it.  Even  a  wolf  hunt 
did  not  stir  him.  He  only  said  he  hated  outlandish  beasts, 
and  that  it  was  not  like  chasing  the  hare  in  Dorset.  His 
calf-love  for  Mme.  de  Selinville  had  entirely  faded  away  in 
his  yearnings  after  home.  She  was  only  one  of  the  tedious- 
ly recurring  sights  of  his  captivity,  and  was  loathed  like 
all  the  rest.  The  regulation  rides  with  the  chevalier  were 
more  detestable  than  ever,  and  by  and  by  they  caused  such 
fatigue  that  Bercnger  perceived  that  his  strength  must  be 
waning,  and  became  so  seriously  alarmed  that  one  evening, 
when  Philip  had  barely  dragged  himself  to  the  hall,  tasted 
nothing  but  a  few  drops  of  wine,  and  then  dropped  into  an 
uneasy  slumber  in  his  chair,  he  could  not  but  turn  to  the 
chevalier  an  appealing,  indignant  countenance,  as  he  said, 
in  a  low  but  quivering  voice,  "  You  see,  sir,  how  he  is  al- 
tered!" 

"  Alas!  fair  nephew,  it  is  but  too  plain.  He  is  just  of  the 
age  when  such  restraint  tells  severely  upon  the  health." 

Then  Berenger  spoke  out  upon  the  foul  iniquity  of  the 
boy's  detention.  For  himself,  he  observed,  he  had  nothing 
to  say;  he  knew  the  terms  of  his  release,  and  had  not  ac- 
cepted them;  but  Phili(),  innocent  of  all  damage  to  the 
Ribaumont  interests,  the  heir  of  an  honorable  family,  what 
had  he  done  to  incur  the  cruel  imprisonment  that  was  eat- 
ing away  his  life? 

"I  tell  you,  sir, "said  Berenger,  with  eyes  filled  with 
tears, ' '  that  his  liberty  is  more  precious  to  me  than  my 
own.  Were  he  but  restored  to  our  home,  full  half  the 
weight  would  be  gone  from  my  spirit." 

"Fair  nephew,"  said  the  chevalier,  "you  speak  as 
though  I  had  any  power  in  the  matter,  and  were  not  mere- 
ly standing  between  you  and  the  king." 

"  Then  if  so,"  said  Berenger,  "  let  the  king  do  as  he  will 
with  me,  but  let  Philip's  case  be  known  to  our  embassador. " 

"  My  poor  cousin,"  said  the  chevalier,  "  you  know  not 
what  you  ask.  Did  I  grant  your  desire,  you  would  only 
learn  how  implacable  King  Henri  is  to  those  who  have  j^er- 
sonally  offended  him^ — above  all,  to  heretics.  Nor  could 
tlie  embassador  do  anything  for  one  who  resisted  by  force 
of  arms  the  king's  justice.  Leave  it  to  me;  put  yourself 
in  my  hands,  and  deliverance  shall  come  for  him  first,  then 
for  you. " 

"  How,  sir?" 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  151 

"  One  token  of  concession — one  attendance  at  mass — one 
pledge  that  the  alliance  shall  take  place  when  the  formali- 
ties have  been  complied  with — then  can  I  report  yon  our 
own;  give  you  almost  freedom  at  once;  dispatch  our  young 
friend  to  England  without  loss  of  time;  so  will  brotherly 
affection  conquer  those  cjiivalrous  scruples,  most  honora- 
ble in  you,  but  which,  carried  too  far,  become  cruel  obsti- 
nacy." 

Berenger  looked  at  Philip;  saw  how  faded  and  wan  was 
the  ruddy  sun-burned  complexion,  how  lank  and  bony  the 
sturdy  form,  how  listless  and  wasted  the  hands.  Then 
arose,  bursting  within  him,  the  devoted  generosity  of  the 
French  luiture,  which  would  even  accept  sin  and  ruin  for 
self,  that  so  the  friend  may  be  saved ;  and  after  all,  had  he 
not  gone  to  mass  out  of  mere  curiosity? — did  he  not  believe 
that  there  was  salvation  in  the  Galilean  Church?  Was  it 
not  possible  that,  with  Philip  free  to  tell  his  story  at  home, 
his  own  deliverance  might  come  before  he  should  be  ir- 
revocably committed  to  Mme.  de  Selinville?  If  Eustacie 
were  living,  her  claims  must  overthrow  that  which  her  rival 
was  forcing  upon  him  at  her  own  peril.  Nay,  how  else 
could  he  obtain  tidings  of  her?  And  for  those  at  home, 
did  they  deserve  that  he  should  sacrifice  all,  Philip  in- 
cluded, for  their  sake?  The  thoughts,  long  floating  round 
his  brain,  now  surged  upon  him  hi  one  flood,  and  seemed 
to  overwhelm  in  those  moments  of  confusion  all  his  powers 
of  calling  up  the  other  side  of  the  argument;  he  only  had 
an  instinct  remaining  that  it  \vould  be  a  lie  to  God  and 
man  alike.  "  God  help  me!"  he  sighed  to  himself;  and 
there  was  suflicient  consideration  and  perplexity  expressed 
in  his  countenance  to  cause  the  chevalier  to  feel  his  cause 
almost  gained;  and  rising  eagerly,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
exclaimed,  "  Embrace  me,  my  dear,  dear  son!  The  thing 
is  done!     Oh!  what  peace,  what  joy!" 

The  instinct  of  recoil  came  stronger  now.  He  stepped 
back  with  folded  arms,  sayuig  again,  "  God  help  me!  God 
forbid  that  I  should  be  a  traitor!" 

"  My  son,  hear  me;  these  are  but  easily  removed  points 
of  honor,"  began  the  chevalier;  but  at  that  moment  Philip 
suddeidy  started  from,  or  in  his  slumber,  leaped  on  his  feet, 
and  called  out,  "  Avaunt,  Satan!"  then  opened  his  eyes, 
and  looked,  as  if  barely  recalling  where  he  was. 
"  Philip!''  exclaimed  Berenger,  "  did  you  hear?" 


152  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

"  I — I  don't  know/'  lie  said^,  half-bewildered.  "  Was  I 
dreaming  that  the  fiend  was  parleying  with  us  in  the  voice 
of  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  there  to  sell  our  souls  for  one  hour 
of  home?" 

He  S23oke  English,  but  Berenger  replied  in  French. 

"  You  were  not  wrong,  Philip.  Sir,  he  dreamed  that 
the  devil  was  tempting  me  in  your  voice  while  you  were 
promising  me  his  liberty  on  my  fultilling  your  first  condi- 
tion." 

"  What?"  said  Philip,  now  fully  awake,  and  gathering 
the  state  of  things,  as  he  remembered  the  words  that  had 
doubtless  been  the  cause  of  his  dream.  "  And  if  you  did, 
Berenger,  I  give  you  warning  they  should  never  see  me  at 
home.  What!  could  I  show  my  face  there  with  such  tid- 
ings? No!  I  should  go  straight  to  La  None,  or  to  the  Low 
Countries,  and  kill  every  Papist  I  could  for  having  de- 
bauched you!" 

"Hush!  hush!  Philip,"  said  Berenger,  "I  could  not 
break  my  faith  to  Heaven  or  my  wife  even  for  your  sake, 
and  my  cousin  sees  how  litile  beholden  you  would  be  to  me 
for  so  doing.     With  your  leave,  monsieur,  we  will  retire." 

The  chevalier  detained  Berenger  for  a  moment  to  whis- 
per: "  What  I  see  is  so  noble  a  heart  that  I  know  you  can 
not  sacrifice  him  to  your  punctilio." 

Philip  was  so  angry  with  Berenger,  so  excited,  and  so  de- 
termined to  show  that  nothing  ailed  him,  that  for  a  short 
time  he  was  roused,  and  seemed  to  be  recovering;  but  in  a 
few  days  he  ilagged  again,  only,  if  possil^le,  with  more 
gruffness,  moodiness,  and  pertinacity  in  not  allowing  that 
anything  was  amiss.  It  was  the  bitterest  drop  of  all  in 
Berenger's  cup,  when  in  the  end  of  January  he  looked  back 
at  what  Philip  had  been  only  a  month  before,  and  saw  how 
he  had  wasted  away  and  lost  strength;  the  impulse  rather 
to  ruin  himself  than  destroy  his  brother  came  with  such 
force  that  he  could  scarcely  escape  it  by  his  ever-recurring 
cry  for  help  to  withstand  it.  And  then  Diane,  in  her 
splendid  beauty  and  witchery,  would  rise  before  him,  so 
that  he  knew  how  a  relaxation  of  the  lengthened  weary 
effort  would  make  his  whole  self  break  its  bonds  and  go  out 
to  her.  Dreams  of  felicity  and  liberty,  and  not  with  Eus- 
tacie,  would  even  come  over  him,  and  he  would  awaken  to 
disappointment  before  he  came  to  a  sense  of  reL'jf  and 
thankfulness  that  he  was  still  his  own.     The  dislike,  dis- 


THE    ClIArLET    OF    PEARLS.  153 

taste,  and  dread  that  came  so  easily  in  liis  time  of  pain  ami 
weakness  were  less  easy  to  maintain  in  his  full  health  and 
forced  inactivity.  Occupation  of  mind  and  hope  seemed 
the  only  chance  of  enabling  either  of  the  two  to  weather 
this  most  dreary  desert  period;  and  Berengcr,  setting  liis 
thoughts  resolutely  to  consider  what  would  be  the  best 
means  of  rousing  Phili]),  decided  at  length  that  any  en- 
deavor to  escape,  however  arduous  and  desperate,  would  be 
better  than  his  present  ajjathetic  languor,  even  if  it  led  to 
nothing.  After  the  first  examination  of  their  prison,  Be- 
renger  had  had  no  thought  of  escape;  he  was  then  still  weak 
and  unenterprising.  He  had  for  many  months  lived  in 
hopes  of  interference  from  home;  and,  besides,  the  likeli- 
hood that  so  English  a  party  as  his  own  would  be  quickly 
jnirsued  and  recaptured,  where  they  did  not  know  their 
road  and  had  no  passports,  had  deterred  him  lest  they 
should  fall  into  still  straiter  imprisonment.  But  he  had 
since  gained,  in  the  course  of  his  rides,  and  by  observation 
from  the  top  of  the  tower,  a  much  fuller  knowledge  of  the 
country.  He  knew  the  way  to  the  Grange  du  Tem])le,  and 
to  the  chief  towns  in  the  neighborhood.  Philip  and  Hum- 
frey  had  both  lost  something  of  their  intensely  national  took 
and  speech,  and,  moreover,  war  having  broken  out  again, 
there  was  hope  of  falling  in  with  Huguenot  partisans  even 
nearer  than  at  La  Kochelle.  But  whether  successful  or 
not,  some  enterj^rise  was  absolutely  needed  to  save  Philiji 
from  his  despondent  apathy;  and  Berenger,  who  in  these 
'eighteen  months  had  grown  into  the  strength  and  vigor  of 
nuiuhood,  felt  as  if  he  had  force  and  power  for  almost  any 
effort  save  this  hopeless  waiting. 

He  held  council  with  Humfrey,  who  suggested  that  it 
might  be  well  to  examine  the  vaults  below  the  keep.  He 
had  a  few  days  before,  while  going  after  some  of  the  fire- 
wood, stored  below  the  ground-floor  chamber,  observed  a 
door,  locked,  but  with  such  rusty  iron  hinges  that  they 
might  possibly  yield  to  vigorous  efforts  with  a  stone;  and 
who  could  tell  where  the  underground  passages  might  come 
out? 

Berenger  eagerly  seized  the  idea.  Philip's  mood  of  con- 
tradiction prompted  him  to  pronounce  it  useless  folly,  and 
he  vouchsafed  no  interest  in  the  arrangements  for  securing 
light,  by  selecting  all  the  bits  of  firewood  fittest  for  torches, 
and  saving  all  the  oil  possible  from  the  two  lamps  they  were 


154  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS, 

allowed.  The  chief  difficulty  was  that  Guibert  was  not 
trusted,  so  that  all  had  to  be  done  out  of  his  sight;  aud  on 
the  first  day  Berenger  was  obliged  to  make  the  exploration 
alone,  since  Hunifrey  was  forced  to  engross  Guibert  in 
some  occujiatiou  out  of  sight,  and  Philip  had  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  it,  or  be  like  a  rat  routing  in  the 
corners  of  his  trap. 

However,  Berenger  had  only  just  ascertained  that  the 
iron-work  was  so  entirely  rusted  away  as  to  offer  no  impedi- 
ment, when  Philij)  came  languidly  roaming  into  the  cellar, 
saying,  "  Here!  I'll  hold  the  torch!  You'll  be  losing  your- 
self in  this  wolf's  mouth  of  a  place  if  you  go  alone. " 

The  investigation  justified  Philip's  predictions  of  its  use- 
lessness.  Nothing  was  detected  but  rats,  and  vaults,  and 
cobwebs;  it  was  cold,  earthy,  and  damp;  and  when  they 
thought  they  must  have  penetrated  far  beyond  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  keep,  they  heard  Humfrey's  voice  close  to 
them,  warning  them  that  it  was  nearly  dinner-time. 

The  next  day  brought  them  a  more  promising  discovery, 
namely  of  a  long  straight  passage,  with  a  gleam  of  light  at 
the  end  of  it;  and  this  for  the  first  time  excited  Philip's  in- 
terest or  curiosity.  He  would  have  hastened  along  it  at 
once,  but  for  the  warning  summons  from  Humfrey;  and  in 
the  excitement  of  even  this  grain  of  interest,  he  eat  more 
heartily  at  supper  than  he  had  done  for  weeks,  and  was 
afterward  more  eager  to  prove  to  Berenger  that  night  was 
the  best  time  to  pursue  their  researches. 

And  Berenger,  when  convinced  that  Guibert  was  souni 
asleep,  thought  so  too,  and  accompanied  by  Humfrey,  they 
descended  into  the  passage.  The  light,  of  course,  was  no 
longer  visible,  but  the  form  of  the  cryj)t,  through  which 
they  now  passed,  was  less  antique  than  that  under  the 
keep,  and  it  was  plain  they  were  beneath  a  later  portion  of 
the  castle.  The  gallery  concluded  in  a  wall,  with  a  small 
barred,  nnglazed  window,  perfectly  dark,  so  that  Berenger, 
who  alone  could  reach  to  the  bottom  of  it,  could  not  guess 
where  it  looked  out. 

"  We  must  return  by  daylight;  then,  may  be,  we  may 
judge,"  sighed  Philip. 

"  Hark!"  exclaimed  Berenger. 

"  Pats,"  said  Philip. 

"  No — listen — a  voice!  Take  care!"  he  added,  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  we  may  be  close  on  some  of  the  servants.'' 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  155 

But,  much  nearer  than  he  expected,  a  voice  on  liis  right 
hand  demanded,  "  Does  any  good  Christian  hear  me?'^ 

"  Who  is  there?''  exchiimed  Phihp. 

"  Ah!  good  sir,  do  I  hear  the  voice  of  a  companion  in 
misery?  Or.  if  you  be  free,  would  you  but  send  tidings  to 
my  poor  father?" 

"It  is  a  Norman  accent!"  cried  Berenger.  "Ah!  ah! 
can  it  be  jjoor  Landry  Osbert?" 

"  I  am — I  am  that  wretch.  Oh,  would  that  Monsieur 
le  Baron  could  know!" 

"  My  dear,  faithful  foster-brother!  They  deceived  me," 
cried  13erenger,  in  great  agitation,  as  an  absolute  howl 
came  from  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  "  Monsieur  le  Baron 
come  to  this!  Woe  worth  the  day!"  and  Berenger  with 
difficulty  mitigated  his  affectionate  servant's  lamentations 
enough  to  learn  from  him  how  he  bad  been  seized  almost 
at  the  gates  of  Bellaise,  closelj'  interrogated,  deprived  of 
the  letter  to  Mme.  la  Baronne,  and  thrown  into  this  dun- 
geon. The  chevalier,  not  an  unmerciful  man,  according 
to  the  time,  had  probably  meant  to  release  bim  as  soon  as 
the  marriage  between  his  son  and  niece  should  have  rendered 
it  superfluous  to  detain  this  witness  to  Berenger's  existence. 
There,  then,  the  poor  fellow  had  lain  for  three  years,  and 
his  work  during  this  weary  time  had  been  the  scraping  with 
a  potsherd  at  the  stone  of  his  wall,  and  his  pertinacious 
perseverance  had  succeeded  in  forming  a  hole  just  large 
enough  to  enable  him  to  see  the  light  of  the  torch  carried 
by  the  gentlemen.  On  his  side  he  said,  there  was  nothing 
but  a  strong  iron  door,  and  a  heavily  barred  window,  look- 
ing, like  that  in  the  passage,  into  the  fosse  within  the 
walled  garden;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  could  enlarge 
his  bole  sufficiently  to  creep  through  it,  he  could  escape  with 
them  in  case  of  their  finding  a  subterranean  outlet.  The 
opening  within  his  cell  was,  of  course,  much  larger  tban 
the  very  small  space  he  had  made  by  loosening  a  stone  to- 
ward the  passage,  but  he  was  obliged  always  to  build  up 
each  side  of  his  burrow  at  the  hours  of  his  jailer's  visit,  lest 
his  work  should  be  detected,  and  to  stamp  the  rubbish  into 
his  floor.  But  while  they  talked,  Ilumfrey  and  Philip, 
with  their  knives,  scraped  so  diligently  that  two  more 
stones  could  be  displaced;  and,  looking  down  the  widening 
hole  through  the  prodigious  mass  of  wall,  they  could  see  a 
ghastly,  ragged,  long-bearded  scarecrow,   with  an  almost 


156  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS. 

piteous  expression  of  joy  on  his  face,  at  once  again  seeing 
familiar  faces.  And  when,  at  his  earnest  entreaty,  Beren- 
ger  stood  so  as  to  allow  his  countenance  to  be  as  visible  as 
the  torch  could  make  it  through  the  "  wall's-hole,''  the 
vault  echoed  with  the  jioor  fellow's  delighted  cry.  "  I  am 
happy!  Monsieur le Baron  is  himself  again.  The  assassin's 
cruel  work  is  gone!  Ah  I  thanks  to  the  saints!  Blessed  be 
St.  Lucie,  it  was  not  in  vain  that  I  entreated  her!" 

The  torches  were,  however,  waxing  so  low  that  the  sight 
could  not  long  be  afforded  poor  Osbert;  and,  with  a  prom- 
ise to  return  to  him  next  day,  the  party  returned  to  the 
njDi^er  air,  where  they  warmed  themselves  over  the  fire, 
and  held  council  over  measures  for  the  present  relief  of  the 
captive.  Berenger  grieved  that  he  had  given  him  up  so 
entirly  for  lost  as  to  have  made  no  exertions  on  his  behalf, 
and  declared  his  resolution  of  entreating  that  he  might  be 
allowed  to  enjoy  comparative  comfort  with  them  in  the 
keep.  It  was  a  risk,  but  the  chevalier  might  fairly  suppose 
that  the  knowledge  of  Osbert's  situation  had  oozed  out 
through  the  servants,  and  gratitude  and  humanity  alike 
impelled  Berenger  to  run  some  risk  for  his  foster-brother's 
sake.  He  was  greatly  touched  at  the  poor  fellow's  devo- 
tion, and  somewhat  amused,  though  with  an  almost  tear- 
ful smile  at  the  joy  witli  which  he  had  proclaimed — what 
Berenger  was  quite  unaware  of,  since  the  keep  furnished 
no  mirrors — the  disappearance  of  his  scars.  "  'Tis  even 
so,"  said  Philip,  "  though  I  never  heeded  it.  You  are  as 
white  from  crown  to  beard  as  one  of  the  statues  at  Paris; 
but  the  great  red  gash  is  a  mere  seam,  save  when  yon  old 
Satan  angers  you,  and  then  it  blushes  for  all  the  rest  of 
your  face. " 

"  And  the  cheek-wound  is  hidden,  I  sujjpose,"  said  Be- 
renger, feeling  under  the  long  fair  mustache  and  the  beard, 
which  was  developing  into  respectable  proj^ortions. 

"  Hidden?  ay,  entirely.  IMo  one  would  think  your  bald 
crown  had  only  twenty-one  years  over  it;  but  you  are  a 
personable  fellow  still,  quite  enough  to  j^lease  Daphne," 
said  Philip. 

"  Pshaw!"  rejilied  Berenger,  pleased  nevertheless  to  hear 
the  shadow  of  a  jest  again  from  Philip. 

It  was  quite  true.  These  months  of  quiescence — en- 
forced though  they  were — had  given  his  heallh  and  consti- 
tution time  to  rally  after  the  terrible  shock  they  had  sus- 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  157 

taiiied.  The  severe  bleedings  had,  indeed,  rendered  his 
complexion  perfectly  colorless;  but  there  was  something  in 
this,  as  well  as  in  the  height  which  the  loss  of  hair  gave  his 
brow,  which,  added  to  the  depth  and  loftiness  of  counte- 
nance that  this  long  period  of  patience  and  resolution  had 
impressed  on  his  naturally  fine  features,  without  taking 
away  that  open  candor  that  had  first  attracted  Diane  when 
he  was  a  rosy  lad.  His  frame  had  strengthened  at  the  same 
time,  and  assumed  the  proportions  of  manhood;  so  that,  in- 
stead of  being  the  overgrown  maypole  that  Narcisse  used 
to  sneer  at,  he  was  now  broad-shouldered  and  robust,  ex- 
ceedingly powerful,  and  so  well  made,  that  his  height,  up- 
ward of  six  feet,  was  scarcely  observed,  except  by  compari- 
son with  the  rest  of  the  world. 

And  his  character  had  not  stood  still.  He  had  first  come 
to  Paris  a  good,  honest,  docile,  though  high-spirited  boy; 
and  though  manly  affections,  cares,  and  sorrows  had  been 
thrust  on  him,  he  had  met  them  like  the  boy  that  he  was, 
hardly  conscious  how  deep  they  went.  Then  had  come  the 
long  dream  of  physical  suffering,  with  only  one  thought 
pertinaciously  held  throughout — that  of  constancy  to  his 
lost  wife;  and  from  this  he  had  only  thoroughly  wakened 
in  his  cajDtivity,  the  resolution  still  holding  fast,  but  with 
more  of  reflection  and  principle,  less  of  mere  instinct,  than 
when  his  powers  were  lost  or  distracted  in  the  effort  of  con- 
stant endurance  of  pain  and  weakness.  The  charge  of 
Philip,  the  endeavor  both  of  educating  him  and  keeping  up 
his  spirits,  as  well  as  the  controversy  with  Pere  Bonami, 
had  been  no  insignificant  parts  of  the  discipline  of  these 
months;  and,  little  as  the  chevalier  had  intended  it,  he  had 
trained  his  young  kinsman  into  a  far  more  substantial  and 
perilous  adversary,  both  in  body  and  mind,  than  when  he 
had  caged  him  in  his  castle  of  the  Blackbird's  Nest. 

CHAPTEE  XXXVni. 

THE   ENEMY   IN    PRESENCE. 

Then  came  and  looked  him  in  the  face, 

An  angel  beautiful  and  bright, 
And  then  he  knew  it  was  a  fiend, 

That  miserable  knight. 

Coleridge. 

"  Father,  dear  father,   what  is  it?    What  makes  you 
look  so  ill,  so  haggard ?''  cried  Diane  de  Selinville,  when 


158  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

summoned  the  next  morning  to  meet  her  father  in  the  par- 
lor of  the  convent. 

"  Ah,  child!  see  here.  Your  brother  will  have  us  make 
an  end  of  it.     He  has  found  her." 

"  Eustacie!     Ah,  and  where?" 

"  That  he  will  not  say,  but  see  here.  This  is  all  his  billet 
tells  me :  '  The  hare  who  has  doubled  so  long  is  traced  to 
her  form.  My  dogs  are  on  her,  and  in  a  week's  time  she 
will  be  ours.  I  request  you,  sir,  to  send  me  a  good  purse 
of  crowns  to  reward  my  huntsmen;  and  in  the  meantime — 
one  way  or  the  other — that  pet  of  my  sister's  must  be  dis- 
posed of.  Kept  too  long,  these  beasts  always  become  sav- 
age. Either  let  him  be  presented  to  the  royal  menagerie, 
or  there  is  a  still  surer  way." 

"  And  that  is  all  he  says!"  exclaimed  Diane. 

"All!  He  was  always  cautious.  He  mentions  no 
names.  And  now,  child,  what  is  to  be  done?  To  give 
him  up  to  the  king  is,  at  the  best,  life-long  imprisonment, 
yet,  if  he  were  still  here  when  my  son  returns —  Alas! 
alas!  child,  I  have  been  ruined  body  and  soul  between  you! 
How  could  yon  make  me  send  after  and  imprison  him?  It 
was  a  mere  assassination!"  and  the  old  man  beat  his  head 
with  grief  and  perplexity. 

"  Father!"  cried  Diane,  tearfully,  "  I  can  not  see  you 
thus.     We  meant  it  for  the  best.     We  shall  yet  save  him." 

"  Save  him!  Ah,  daughter,  I  tossed  all  night  long 
thinking  how  to  save  him,  so  strong,  so  noble,  so  firm,  so 
patient,  so  good  even  to  the  old  man  who  has  destroyed 
his  hope — his  life!  Ah!  I  have  thought  till  my  brain 
whirls." 

"  Poor  father!  I  knew  you  would  love  him,"  said  Di- 
ane, tenderly.  *'  Ah!  we  will  save  him  yet.  He  shall  be 
the  best  of  sons  to  you.  Look,  it  is  only  to  tell  him  that 
she  whom  he  calls  his  wife  is  already  in  my  brother's  hands, 
wedded  to  him. " 

"  Daughter  " — and  he  pushed  back  his  gray  hair  with  a 
weary  distressed  gesture — "  I  am  tired  of  wiles;  I  am  old; 
I  can  carry  them  out  no  longer." 

"  But  this  is  very  simple;  it  may  already  be  true — at 
least  it  will  soon  be  true.  Only  tell  him  that  she  is  my 
brother's  wife.  Then  will  liis  generosity  awaken,  then  will 
he  see  that  to  persist  in  the  validity  of  his  marriage  would 
be  misery,  dishonor  to  her,  then — " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  159 

**  Child,  you  know  not  how  hard  he  is  in  his  sense  of 
right.  Even  for  his  brother's  sake  he  would  not  give  May 
an  inch,  and  the  boy  was  as  obstinate  as  he!" 

"  Ah!  but  this  comes  nearer.  He  will  be  stung;  his  gen- 
erosity will  be  piqued.  He  will  see  that  the  kindest  thing 
he  can  do  will  be  to  nulhfy  liis  claim,  and  the  child — " 

The  chevalier  groaned,  struck  his  brow  with  his  fist,  and 
muttered,  "  That  will  concern  no  one — that  has  been  pro- 
vided for.  Ab!  ah!  children,  if  I  lose  my  owu  soul  for 
you,  you—'' 

"  Father,  my  sweet  father,  say  not  these  cruel  things. 
Did  not  the  queen's  confessor  tell  us  that  all  means  were 
lawful  that  brought  a  soul  to  the  Church?  and  here  are 
two. " 

"Two!  Why,  the  youth's  heresy  is  part  of  his  point 
of  honor.  Child,  child,  the  two  will  be  murdered  in  my 
very  house,  and  the  guilt  will  be  on  my  soul." 

"  No,  father!  We  will— we  will  save  him.  See,  only  tell 
him  this." 

"This — what?  My  brain  is  confused.  I  have  thought 
long — long. " 

"  Only  this,  father,  dear  father.  You  shall  not  be  tor- 
mented any  more,  if  only  you  will  tell  him  that  my  brother 
has  made  Eustacie  his  wife,  then  will  I  do  all  the  rest. " 

Diane  coaxed,  soothed,  and  encouraged  her  father  by  her 
caresses,  till  he  mounted  his  mule  to  return  to  the  castle  at 
dinner-time,  and  she  promised  to  come  early  in  the  after- 
noon to  follow  up  the  stroke  he  was  to  give.  She  had  never 
seen  him  falter  before — he  had  followed  out  his  policy  with 
a  clear  head  and  unsparing  hand — but  now  that  Berenger's 
character  was  better  known  to  him,  and  the  crisis  long  de- 
layed had  come  so  suddenly  before  his  eyes,  his  whole  pow- 
ers seemed  to  reel  under  the  alternative. 

The  dinner-bell  clauged  as  he  arrived  at  the  castle,  and 
the  prisoners  were  marched  into  the  hall,  both  intent  upon 
making  their  request  on  Osbert's  behalf,  and  therefore  as 
impatient  for  the  conclusion  of  the  meal,  and  the  absence 
of  the  servants,  as  was  their  host.  His  hands  trembled  so 
much  that  Berenger  was  obliged  to  carve  for  him;  he  made 
the  merest  feint  of  eating;  and  now  and  then  raised  his 
hand  to  his  iiead  as  if  to  bring  back  scattered  ideas. 

The  last  servant  quitted  the  room,  when  Berenger  per- 
ceived that  the  old  man  was  hardly  in  a  state  to  attend  to 


160  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS, 

his  request,  and  yet  the  miserable  frost-bitten  state  of  i)Oor 
Landry  seemed  to  comjoel  him  to  speak. 

"  8ir/'  he  began,  "  you  could  do  me  a  great  kindness."' 

The  chevalier  looked  up  at  him  with  glassy  eyes. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  with  an  effort,  "  I  also  had  some- 
thing to  say.  Ah!  let  me  think.  I  have  had  enough. 
Call  my  daughter,"  he  added,  feeling  helplessly  with  his 
hands,  so  that  Berenger  started  up  in  alarm,  and  received 
him  in  his  arms  just  in  time  to  prevent  his  sinking  to  the 
floor  senseless. 

"It  is  a  stroke,"  exclaimed  Berenger.  "Call,  Phil! 
Send  the  gendarmes. " 

The  gendarmes  might  be  used  to  the  sight  of  death  of 
their  own  causing,  but  tbey  had  a  horror  of  that  which 
came  by  Nature's  hand.  The  purple  face  and  loud  gasps 
of  the  stricken  man  terrified  them  out  of  their  senses. 
"  C'est  un  coup,"  was  the  cry,  and  they  went  clattering 
off  to  the  servants.  These,  all  men  but  one  old  crone, 
came  in  a  mass  to  the  door,  looked  in,  beheld  their  master 
rigid  and  prostrate  on  the  floor,  supported  by  the  prisoner, 
and  with  fresh  shrieks  about  "  Mesdames!  a  priest!  a  doc- 
tor!" away  they  rushed.  The  two  brothers  were  not  in 
much  less  consternation,  only  they  retained  their  senses. 
Berenger  loosened  the  ruft'  and  doublet,  and  bade  Philip 
practice  that  art  of  letting  blood  which  he  had  learned  for 
his  benefit.  When  Mme.  de  Selinville  and  her  aunt,  with 
their  escort,  having  been  met  half-way  from  Bellaise,  ar- 
rived sooner  than  could  have  been  expected,  they  found 
every  door  open  from  hall  to  entrance  gate-way,  not  a  per- 
son keeping  watch,  and  the  old  man  lying  death-like  upon 
cushions  in  the  hall,  Philij)  bandaging  his  arm,  and  Be- 
renger rubbing  his  temples  with  wnne  and  the  hottest  spices 
on  the  table.  "  He  is  better — he  is  alive,"  said  Berenger, 
as  they  entered ;  and  as  both  ladies  would  have  fallen  on 
him  with  shrieks  and  sobs,  he  bade  them  listen,  assured 
them  that  the  only  chance  of  life  was  in  immediate  care, 
and  entreated  that  bedding  might  be  brought  down,  and 
strong  essences  fetched  to  apply  to  the  nose  and  temples. 
They  obeyed,  and  brought  the  servants  to  obey;  and  by  the 
time  the  priest  and  the  sister  infirmarer  had  arrived  from 
the  convent,  he  had  opened  his  eyes,  and,  as  he  saw  Be- 
renger,  tried  to  murmur  sometliing  that  sounded  like  "3fon 

nu." 


THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  101 

"  He  lives— he  speaks !^ie  can  receive  the  sacraments!" 
was  the  immediate  exchimation;  and  as  preparations  began 
to  be  made,  the  brothers  saw  that  their  jDresence  was  no 
longer  needed,  and  returned  to  their  own  tower. 

"  So,  sir,"  said  the  gendarme  sergeant,  as  they  walked 
down  the  passage,  "  you  did  not  seize  the  moment  for  es- 
cape/^ 

"  I  never  thought  of  it,"  said  Berenger. 

"  I  hope,  sir,  you  will  not  he  the  worse  for  it,'^  said  the 
sergeant.  "  An  honorable  gentleman  you  have  ever  proved 
yourself  to  me,  and  J  will  bear  testimony  that  you  did  the 
poor  old  gentleman  no  hurt;  but  nobles  will  have  it  their 
own  way,  and  pay  little  heed  to  a  poor  soldier. " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  friend?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  it  is  unlucky  that  you  two  happened 
to  be  alone  with  Monsieur  le  Chevalier.  No  one  can  tell 
what  may  be  said  when  they  seek  an  occasion  against  a  per- 
son.'' 

To  the  brothers,  however,  this  suggestion  sounded  so  hor- 
rible and  unnatural,  that  they  threw  it  from  them.  They 
applied  themselves  at  every  moment  possible  to  enlarging 
Osbert's  hole,  and  seeking  an  outlet  from  the  dungeon;  but 
this  they  had  not  been  able  to  discover,  and  it  was  neces- 
sary to  be  constantly  on  their  guard  in  visiting  the  vaults, 
lest  their  absence  from  their  apartment  should  be  detected. 
They  believed  that  if  Narcisse  arrived  at  the  castle,  they 
should  find  in  him  a  far  less  gentler  jailer  than  the  poor 
old  man,  for  whose  state  their  kindly  young  hearts  could 
not  but  grieve. 

They  heard  that  he  had  recovered  consciousness  enough 
to  have  made  a  sort  of  confession;  and  Pere  Bonami  brought 
them  his  formal  request,  as  a  dying  man,  for  their  pardon 
for  all  the  injuries  he  had  done  them;  but  his  speech  was  too 
much  affected  for  any  sjiecifi cation  of  what  these  were. 
The  first  thing  they  heard  in  early  morning  was  that,  in 
the  course  of  the  night,  he  had  breathed  his  last;  and  all 
day  the  bells  of  all  the  churches  round  were  answering  one 
another  with  the  slow,  swinging,  melancholy  notes  of  the 
knell. 

In  the  early  twilight,  Pere  Bonami  brought  a  message 
that  Mme.  de  Selinville  requested  M.  le  Baron  to  come  and 
epeak  with  her,  and  he  was  accordingly  conducted,  Avith 
the  gendarme  behind  him,  to  a  small  chamber  opening  into 

6-2d  half. 


162  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

the  hall — the  same  where  the  incantations  of  the  Italian 
peddler  had  been  jDlayed  off  before  Philip  and  Diane.  The 
gendarme  remained  outside  tiie  door  by  which  they  entered 
the  little  dark  room,  only  lighted  by  one  little  lamp. 

"Here,  daughter/'  said  the  priest,  "is  your  cousin. 
He  can  answer  the  question  that  you  have  so  much  at 
heart;''  and  with  these  words  Pere  Bonami  passed  beneath 
the  black  curtain  that  covered  the  entrance  into  the  hall, 
admitting  as  he  raised  it  for  a  momenta  ilood  of  pure  light 
from  the  wax  tapers,  and  allowing  the  cadence  of  the 
chanting  of  the  priests  to  fall  on  the  ear.  At  first  Beren- 
ger  was  scarcely  able  to  discern  the  pale  face  that  looked 
as  if  tears  were  all  dried  up,  and  even  before  his  eyes  had 
clearly  perceived  her  in  the  gloom,  she  was  standing  before 
him  with  clasped  hands,  demanding  in  a  hoarse,  breathless 
whisper,  "  Had  he  said  anything  to  you?" 

"  Anything?  No,  cousin,"  said  Berenger,  in  a  kind  tone. 
"  He  had  seemed  suffering  and  oppressed  all  dinner-time, 
and  when  the  servants  left  us,  he  murmured  a  few  con- 
fused words,  then  sunk." 

"  Ah,  ah,  he  spoke  it  not!  Thank  heaven!  Ah!  it  is  a 
load  gone.  Then  neither  will  I  speak  it, "  sighed  Diane, 
half  aloud.     "  Ah!  cousin,  he  loved  you." 

"  He  often  was  kind  to  us,"  said  Berenger,  impelled  to 
speak  as  tenderly  as  he  could  of  the  enemy,  who  had  cer- 
tainly tortured  him,  but  as  if  he  loved  him. 

"  He  bade  us  save  you,"  said  Diane,  her  eyes  shining 
with  strange  wild  light  in  the  gloom.  "  He  laid  it  on  my 
aunt  and  me  to  save  you;  you  must  let  us.  It  must  be 
done  before  my  brother  comes,"  she  added,  in  hurried  ac- 
cents. "  The  messengers  are  gone;  he  may  be  here  any 
moment.  He  must  find  you  in  the  chapel — as — as  my  be- 
trothed!" 

"  And  you  sent  fOr  me  here  to  tempt  me — close  to  such 
a  chamber  as  that?"  demanded  Berenger,  his  gentleness 
becoming  sternness,  as  much  with  his  own  worse  self  as 
with  her. 

"  Listen,  Ah!  it  is  the  only  way.  Listen,  cousin.  Dt 
you  know  what  killed  my  father?  It  was  my  brother's 
letter  saying  things  must  be  brought  to  an  end;  either  you 
must  be  given  up  to  the  king,  or  worse — worse.  And  now, 
without  him   to  stand  between  you  and  my  brother,  you 


THE    CHAPLET    OV    PEAKLS.  163 

are  lost.     Oh!  take  pity  on  his  poor  soul  that  has  left  his 
body,  aud  bring  not  your  blood  on  his  head. " 

"  Nay/'  said  Berenger,  "  if  he  rejjented,  the  after  con- 
sequences to  me  will  have  no  eilect  on  him  now. " 
Have  pity  then  on  yourself — on  your  brother. '^ 
"I  have/'  said  Berenger.     "He  had  rather  die  with 
me  than  see  me  a  traitor." 

"  And  least  of  all/'  she  exclaimed,  with  choking  grief, 
"  have  you  comjjassion  on  me! — on  me  who  have  lost  the 
only  one  who  felt  for  me — on  me  who  have  loved  you  with 
every  liber  of  my  heart — on  me  who  have  lived  on  the  mu- 
sic of  your  hardest,  coldest  word — on  me  who  would  lay 
my  life,  my  honor,  in  the  dust  for  one  grateful  glance  from 
you — and  whom  you  condemn  to  the  anguish  of — your 
death!  Ay,  and  for  what?  For  the  mere  shadow  of  a 
little  girl,  who  had  no  force  to  love  you,  of  whom  you  know 
nothing — nothing!  Oh!  are  you  a  crystal  rock,  or  are  you 
a  man?     See,  I  kneel  to  you  to  save  yourself  and  me. " 

There  were  hot  tears  dropping  from  Berenger 's  eyes  as 
he  caught  Diane's  hand,  and  held  it  forcibly  to  prevent  her 
thus  abasing  herself.  Her  wild  words  and  gestures  thrilled 
him  in  every  j)ulse  and  wrung  his  heart,  and  it  was  with  a 
stifled,  agitated  voice  that  he  said: 

"  God  help  you  and  me  both,  Diane!  To  do  what  you 
ask  would — would  be  no  saving  of  either.  Nay,  if  you  will 
kneel,"  as  she  struggled  with  him,  "  let  it  be  to  Him  who 
alone  can  bring  us  through;"  and  releasing  her  hand,  he 
drojiped  on  his  knees  by  her  side,  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands,  in  an  earnest  supplication  that  the  spirit  of  re- 
sistance which  he  almost  felt  slipping  from  him  might  be 
renewed.  The  action  hushed  and  silenced  her,  and  as  he 
rose  he  spoke  no  other  word,  but  silently  drew  back  so 
much  of  the  curtain  that  he  could  see  into  the  hall,  where 
the  dead  man  still  lay  uncoftined  upon  the  bed  where  his 
own  hands  had  laid  him,  and  the  low,  sweet  requiem  of 
kneeling  priests  floated  round  him.  Eest,  rest,  and  calm 
they  breathed  into  one  sorely  tried  living  soul,  and  the  per- 
turbed heart  was  quelled  by  the  sense  how  short  the  passage 
was  to  the  world  where  captivity  and  longing  would  be 
ended.  He  beckoned  to  Pere  Bonami  to  return  to  Diane, 
and  then,  protected  by  his  presence  from  any  further  dem- 
onstrations, kissed  her  hand  and  left  her. 

He  told  Philip  as  little  as  possible  of  this  interview,  but 


164  THE  OHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

liis  brother  remarked  how  much  time  he  spent  over  the 
Psalms  that  evening. 

The  next  day  the  brothers  saw  from  their  upper  window 
the  arrival  of  Karcisse,  or,  as  he  had  called  himself  for  the 
last  three  years,  the  Marquis  de  Nid-de-Merle,  with  many 
attendant  gentlemen,  and  a  band  of  fifty  or  sixty  gendarmes. 
The  court  was  filled  with  their  horses,  and  rang  with  their 
calls  for  refreshment.  And  the  captives  judged  it  wise  to 
remain  in  their  ui^per  room  in  case  they  should  be  called 
for. 

Tliey  were  proved  to  have  been  wise  in  so  doing;  for 
about  an  hour  after  their  arrival  there  was  a  great  clanging 
of  steel  boots,  and  Narcisse  de  Ribaumont,  followed  by  a 
portly,  heavily  armed  gentleman,  wearing  a  scarf  of  office, 
by  two  of  the  servants,  and  by  two  gendarmes,  entered  the 
room.  It  was  the  first  time  the  cousins  had  met  since  le 
haiser  d'Eustacie  had  been  hissed  into  Berenger's  ear. 
Narcisse  looked  older,  sallower,  and  more  worn  than  at 
that  time;  and  Philip,  seeing  his  enemy  for  the  first  time, 
contrasted  him  with  the  stately  presence  of  Berenger,  and 
felt  as  if  a  rat  were  strangling  a  noble  steed. 

Each  young  man  punctiliously  removed  his  hat,  and  Nid- 
de-Merle,  without  deigning  further  salutation,  addressed 
his  companion.  "  Sir,  you  are  here  on  the  part  of  the 
king,  and  to  you  I  deliver  up  these  prisoners  who,  having 
been  detained  here  on  a  charge  of  carrying  on  a  treasonable 
correspondence,  and  protected  by  my  father  out  of  con- 
sideration for  the  family,  have  requited  his  goodness  by  an 
attempt  to  strangle  him,  which  has  caused  his  death." 

Philip  actually  made  a  leap  of  indignation;  Berenger, 
better  prepared,  said  to  the  officer,  "  Sir,  I  am  happy  to  be 
placed  in  charge  of  a  king's  servant,  who  will  no  doubt  see 
justice  done,  and  shelter  us  from  the  private  malice  that 
could  alone  devise  so  monstrous  an  accusation.  We  are 
ready  to  clear  ourselves  u^jon  oath  over  the  corpse,  and  all 
the  household  and  our  own  guards  caii  bear  wtiness. " 

"  The  witnesses  are  here,"  said  Narcisse,  pointing  to  the 
servants,  ill-looking  men,  who  immediately  began  to  depose 
to  having  found  their  master  purple-faced  and  struggling 
in  the  hands  of  the  two  young  men,  who  had  been  left 
alone  with  him  after  dinner. 

Berenger  felt  that  there  was  little  use  in  self-defense.  It 
was  a  fabrication  the  more  easily  to  secure  his  cousin's  pur- 


THE  OHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS.  165 

pose  of  destroying  him,  and  his  best  hope  lay  in  passing 
into  the  hands  of  persons  who  were  less  directly  interested. 
in  his  ruin.  He  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  say- 
ing, "  If  there  be  justice  in  France,  our  innocence  will  be 
proved.  I  demand,  sir,  that  you  examine  the  abbess.,  the 
priest,  the  steward,  the  sergeant  of  gendarmes:  they  are 
impartial  witnesses,  and  will  serve  the  king's  justice,  if 
justice  be  his  purpose.  Or,  if  this  be  but  Monsieur  de  Nid- 
de-Merle's  way  of  completing  the  work  he  left  unfinished 
four  years  ago,  I  am  ready.  Only  let  my  brother  go  free. 
He  is  heir  to  nothing  here. " 

"  Enough,  sir.  Words  against  the  king's  justice  will  be 
reckoned  against  you,"  said  the  officer.  "  I  shall  do  my- 
self the  honor  of  attending  the  funeral  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, and  then  I  shall  convey  you  to  Tours,  to  answer 
for  this  deed  at  your  leisure.  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  are  the 
prisoners  secure  here,  or  would  you  have  them  gardes  a 
vue?" 

"  No  need  for  that,"  said  Narcisse,  lightly;  ''  had  there 
been  any  exit  they  would  have  found  it  long  ago.  Your 
good  fellows  outside  the  door  keep  them  safe  enough. 
Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Ribaumont,  I  have  the  honor  to  wish 
you  a  good-morning." 

Berenger  returned  his  bow  with  one  full  of  defiance,  and 
the  door  was  again  locked  upon  the  prisoners;  while  Philip 
exclaimed,  "  The  cowardly  villain.  Berry;  is  it  a  hanging 
matter?" 

"  Not  for  noble  blooJ,"  said  Berenger.  "  We  are  more 
likely  to  be  brought  to  no  trial,  but  to  lie  prisoners  for 
life;"  then,  as  Philip  grew  white  and  shivered  with  a  sick 
horror,  he  added  bravely,  "  But  they  shall  not  have  us, 
Philip.  We  know  the  vaults  well  enough  to  jjlay  at  hide 
and  seek  with  them  there,  and  even  if  we  find  no  egress  we 
may  hold  out  till  they  think  us  fled  and  leave  open  the 
doors!" 

Philip's  face  lighted  up  again,  and  they  did  their  best  by 
way  of  preparation,  collecting  wood  for  torches,  and  put- 
ting aside  food  at  their  meals.  It  was  a  very  forlorn  hope, 
but  the  occupation  it  caused  was  effectual  in  keeping  up 
Philip's  spirits,  and  saving  him  from  desjjondency. 


166  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

THE    peddler's   PEEDICTIOK. 

But  if  ne'er  so  close  you  wall  him, 

Do  the  best  that  you  may; 
Blind  Love,  if  so  you  call  him, 

Will  find  out  his  way. 

Old  Song. 

"  Too  late,"  muttered  Berenger  to  himself,  as  he  stood 
by  the  fire  in  his  prison-chamber.  Humfrey  and  Philip 
were  busy  in  the  vaults,  and  he  was  taking  his  turn  in  wait- 
ing in  the  sitting-room  to  disarm  suspicion.  "It  is  too 
late  now,  and  I  thank  God  that  so  it  is. " 

"Do  you  indeed.  Monsieur  le  Baron,"  said  a  low  voice 
close  beside  him;  and,  as  he  turned  in  haste,  he  beheld,  at 
the  foot  of  the  turret-stair,  the  youth  Aime  de  Selinville, 
holding  a  dark-lantern  in  his  hand,  and  veiling  its  light. 

"  Ha!"  and  he  started  to  his  feet.  "  Whence  come 
you?" 

"  From  my  lady,"  was  the  youth's  answer.  "  She  has 
sent  me  to  ask  whether  you  persist  in  what  you  replied  to 
her  the  other  day.  For  if  not,  she  bids  me  say  that  it  is 
not  too  late." 

"  And  if  I  do  persevere?" 

"  Then — ah!  what  do  I  know?  Who  can  tell  how  far 
malice  can  go?  And  there  are  towers  and  bastilles  where 
hope  never  enters.  Moreover,  your  researches  underground 
are  known." 

"Sir,"  said  Berenger,  the  heart-sinking  quelled  by  the 
effort  of  resistance,  "  Madame  de  Selinville  has  my  answer 
— I  must  take  the  consequences.  Tell  her,  if  she  truly 
wishes  me  well,  the  honorable  way  of  saving  us  would  be  to 
let  our  English  friends  know  wliat  has  befallen  us." 

"  You  forget.  Monsieur  le  Baron,  even  if  she  could  pro- 
claim the  dishonor  of  her  family,  interference  from  a  for- 
eign power  might  only  lead  to  a  surer  mode  of  removing 
you,"  said  Aime,  lowering  his  voice  and  shuddering. 

"  Even  so,  I  should  thank  her.  Then  would  the  bitter- 
est pang  be  taken  away.  Those  at  our  home  would  not 
deem  us  faithless  recreants." 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  167 

"  Thank  her!"  murmured  the  lad  in  an  mward  voice. 
"  Very  well,  sir,  I  will  carry  her  your  decision.  It  is  your 
final  one.  Disgrace,  prison,  death — rather  than  freedom, 
love,  wealth!" 

''The  semblance  of  dishonor  rather  than  the  reality!" 
said  Berenoer,  firmly. 

The  light-footed  page  disappeared,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments a  very  different  tread  came  up  from  below,  and 
Philip  appeared. 

"  What  is  it.  Berry?     Methought  I  heard  a  voice.'' 

"Forgive  me,  brother,"  said  Berenger,  holding  out  his 
hand;  "  I  have  thrown  away  another  ofl'er. '' 

"  Tush,  the  thing  to  pardon  would  be  having  accepted 
one.  I  only  wish  they  would  leave  us  in  peace!  "What  was 
it  this  time?'' 

"  A  message  through  young  Selinville.  Strange,  to  trust 
her  secrets  to  that  lad.  But  hush,  here  he  is  again,  much 
sooner  than  I  thought.  What,  sir,  have  you  been  with 
your  lady  again?' ' 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  youth  said,  with  a  trembling  voice,  and 
Berenger  saw  that  his  eyes  were  red  with  weeping;  "  she 
bids  me  tell  you  that  she  yields.  She  will  save  you  even 
while  you  hate  and  despise  her!   There  is  only  one  thing — " 

"  And  what  is  that?" 

"  You  must  encumber  yourself  with  the  poor  Aime. 
You  must  let  me  serve  j^ou  instead  of  her.  Listen,  sir,  it 
can  not  be  otherwise. "  Then  with  a  brisker,  more  eager 
voice,  he  continued:  "Monsieur  knows  that  the  family 
burial-place  is  Bellaise?  Well,  to-morrow,  at  ten  o'clock, 
all  the  household,  all  the  neighborhood,  will  come  and 
sprinkle  holy  water  on  the  bier.  The  first  requiem  will  be 
sung,  and  then  will  all  repair  to  the  convent.  There  will 
be  the  funeral  mass,  the  banquet,  the  dole.  Every  creat- 
ure in  the  castle — nay,  in  all  the  neighborhood  for  twent}'' 
miles  round — will  be  at  the  convent,  for  the  abbess  has 
given  out  that  the  alms  are  to  be  doubled,  and  the  bread  of 
wheat.  Not  a  soul  will  remain  here,  save  the  two  gen- 
darmes on  guard  at  that  door,  and  the  poor  Aime,  whom 
no  one  will  miss,  even  if  any  person  could  be  distinguished 
in  their  black  cloaks.  Madame  le  Comtesse  has  given  him 
this  key,  which  opens  a  door  on  the  upper  floor  of  the  keep, 
unknown  to  the  guards,  who,  for  that  matter,  shall  have  a 
good  tankard  of  spiced  wine  to  console  and  occupy  them. 


168  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS. 

Then  is  the  way  clear  to  the  castle-court,  which  is  not  over- 
looked by  their  window,  the  horses  are  in  the  stables,  and 
we  are  off — that  is,  if  Monsieur  le  Baron  will  save  a  poor 
youth  from  tlie  wrath  of  Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle/' 

"  You  are  an  honest  fellow!''  cried  Philip,  shaking  him 
vehemently  by  the  hand.  "  You  shall  go  with  us  to  Eng- 
land, and  we  will  make  a  brave  man  of  you. " 

"  We  shall  owe  you  onr  lives,"  said  Berenger,  warmly, 
"  and  be  ever  bound  to  you.  Tell  your  lady  that  this  is 
magnanimity;  that  now  I  truly  thank  her  as  our  preserver, 
and  shall  bless  her  all  the  days  of  the  life  she  gives  us. 
But  my  servants?" 

"  Guibert  is  a  traitor,"  said  Aime;  "  he  has  been  so  ever 
since  you  were  at  Paris.  Breathe  no  word  to  him;  but  he, 
as  a  Catholic,  shall  be  invited  to  the  funeral.  Y^our  stout 
Englishman  should  be  all  means  be  with  us. " 

"  My  Norman,  also,"  added  Berenger — "  my  dear  fos- 
ter-brother, who  has  languished  in  the  dungeon  for  three 
years;"  and  when  the  explanation  had  been  made,  Aime 
assented,  though  half-unwillingly,  to  the  necessity,  and 
presently  quitted  them  to  bear  back  their  answer  to  his 
lady.  Philij)  shook  his  hand  violently  again,  patted  him 
on  the  back,  so  as  almost  to  take  away  his  breath,  and  bade 
him  never  fear,  they  would  be  sworn  brothers  to  him  for- 
ever; and  then  threw  up  his  hat  into  the  air,  and  was  so 
near  astonishing  the  dungeon  walls  with  a  British  hurrah, 
that  Berenger  had  to  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth  and 
strangle  the  shout  in  his  very  throat. 

The  chief  of  that  night  was  spent  in  enlarging  the  hole 
in  Osbert's  wall,  so  as  to  admit  of  his  creeping  through  it; 
and  they  also  prepared  their  small  baggage  for  departure. 
Their  stock  of  money,  though  some  had  been  sjient  on  re- 
newing their  clothes,  and  some  in  needful  gratuities  to  the 
servants  and  gendarmes,  was  sufficient  for  present  needs, 
and  they  intended  to  wear  their  ordinary  dress.  They  were 
unlikely  to  meet  any  of  the  jieasants  in  the  neighborhood; 
and,  indeed,  Berenger  had  so  constantly  ridden  out  in  his 
black  mask,  that  its  absence,  now  that  his  scars  were  gone, 
was  as  comj)lete  a  change  as  could  be  effected  in  one  whose 
height  was  so  unusual. 

"  There  begins  the  knell,"  said  Philip,  standing  at  the 
window.  "It's  our  joy-bell.  Berry!  Every  clang  seems 
to  me  to  say,  '  Home!  home!  home!'  " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  169 

"  For  you,  Phil/^  said  Berenger;  "  but  I  must  be  satis- 
fied of  Eustacie's  fate  first.  I  shall  go  first  to  Nissard — 
whither  we  were  bound  when  we  were  seized — then  to  La 
Rochelle,  whence  you  may — " 

"  No  more  of  that/'  burst  out  Philip.  "  What!  would 
you  have  me  leave  you  now,  after  all  we  have  gone  through 
together?  Not  that  you  will  find  her.  I  donH  want  to  vex 
you,  brother,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  but  yon  conjurer's 
words  are  coming  true  in  the  other  matter." 

"  How?     What  mean  you,  Phil?" 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  Aime?"  asked  Philip.  "  Even 
I  am  French  scholar  enough  for  that.  And  who  sends 
him?" 

Meantime  the  court  was  already  filling  with  swarms  of 
persons  of  every  rank  and  degree,  but  several  anxious 
hours  had  passed  before  the  procession  was  marshaled;  and 
friars  and  monks,  black,  white,  and  gray — priests  in  rich 
robes  and  tall  caps — black-cloaked  gentlemen  and  men-at- 
arms — all  bearing  huge  wax-  tapers — and  peasants  and  beg- 
gars of  every  conceivable  aspect — filed  out  of  the  court, 
bearing  with  them  the  richly  emblazoned  bier  of  the  noble 
and  puissant  knight,  the  Beausire  Charles  Eustache  de 
Ribaumont  Nid-de-Merle,  his  son  w^alking  behind  in  a  long 
black  mantle,  and  all  who  counted  kindred  or  friendship 
following  two  and  two;  tiien  all  the  servants,  every  one 
who  properly  belonged  to  the  castle,  were  counted  out  by 
the  brothers  from  their  windows,  and  Guibert  among  them. 

"  Messieurs,"  a  low,  anxious  voice  sounded  in  the  room. 
' '  We  will  only  fetch  Osbert. ' ' 

It  was  a  terrible  ouli/,  as  precious  moments  slipped  away 
before  there  appeared  in  the  lower  chamber  Berenger  and 
Humfrey,  dragging  between  them  a  squalid  wretch,  with  a 
skin  like  stained  parchment  over  a  skeleton,  tangled  hair 
and  beard,  staring  bewildered  eyes,  and  fragments  of  gar- 
ments, all  dust,  dirt,  and  rags. 

"  Leave  me,  leave  me,  dear  master,"  said  the  object, 
stretching  his  whole  person  toward  the  fire  as  they  let  him 
sink  down  before  it.     "  You  would  but  ruin  yourself." 

"  It  is  madness  to  take  him,"  said  Aime,  impatiently. 

"  I  go  not  without  him,"  said  Berenger.  "  Give  me  the 
soup,  Philip." 

Some  soup  and  wine  had  been  placed  by  the  fire,  and 
likewise  a  shirt  and  a  suit  of  Humfrey's  clothes  were  spread 


170  THE  OHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

before  it.  Aime  burst  out  into  tlie  yard,  absolutely  weep- 
ing with  inij)atience,  when,  unheeding  all  his  remonstrances, 
his  three  companions  applied  themselves  to  feeding,  rub- 
bing, and  warming  Osbert,  and  assuring  him  that  the  pains 
in  his  limbs  would  pass  away  with  warmth  and  exercise. 
He  had  been  valiant  of  heart  in  his  dungeon;  but  his  sud- 
den plunge  into  upper  air  was  like  rising  from  the  grave, 
and  brought  on  all  the  effects  of  his  dreary  captivity,  of 
which  he  liad  hardly  been  sensible  when  he  had  first  listened 
to  ihe  voice  of  hope. 

Dazzled,  crippled  helpless,  it  seemed  almost  impossible 
that  he  should  share  the  flight,  but  Berenger  remained  reso- 
lute; and  when  Aime  returned  from  his  fourth  frantic 
promenade,  he  was  told  that  all  was  ready. 

But  for  the  strength  of  Berenger  and  Humfrey  the  poor 
fellow  could  never  have  been  carried  up  and  up,  nearly  to 
the  to2J  of  the  keep,  then  along  a  narrow  gallery,  then 
down  again  even  to  the  castle-hall,  now  empty,  though 
with  the  candlesticks  still  around  where  the  bier  had  been. 
Aime  kneeled  for  a  moment  where  the  head  had  been,  hid- 
ing his  face;  Osbert  rested  in  a  chair;  and  Philip  looked 
wistfully  up  at  his  own  sword  hung  over  the  chimney. 

"  Resume  your  swords,  messieurs,"  said  Aime,  observ- 
ing him;  "  Madame  desires  it;  and  take  pistols  also."" 

They  gladly  obeyed;  and  when,  after  this  short  delay, 
they  proceeded,  Osberl  moved  somewhat  less  painfully,  but 
when  they  arrived  at  the  stable  only  four  horses  stood  there. 

"Ah!  this  miserable!"  cried  Aime,  passionately,  "he 
ruins  all  my  arrangements. " 

"  Leave  me,"  again  entreated  Landry.  "  Once  outside, 
I  can  act  the  beggar  and  cripple,  and  get  back  to  Nor- 
mandy." 

"  Better  leave  me,"  said  Humfrey;  "  they  can  not  keep 
me  when  you  are  out  of  their  clutches." 

"  Help  me,  Humfrey,"  said  Berenger,  beginning  to  lift 
his  foster-brother  to  the  saddle,  but  there  the  poor  man 
wavered,  cried  out  that  his  head  swam,  and  he  could  not 
keep  his  seat,  entreating  almost  in  agony  to  be  taken  down. 

"  Lean  on  me,"  said  Berenger,  putting  his  arms  round 
him.  "There!  you  will  be  able  to  get  to  the  Grange  du 
Temple,  where  you  will  be  in  safe  shelter." 

"  Sir,  sir,"  cried  Aime,  ready  to  tear  his  hair,  "  tjiis  is 


THE    ClIAPLKT    OF    PEARLS.  171 

ruin !  My  lady  meant  you  to  make  all  speed  to  La  Rochelle 
and  there  embark^  and  this  is  the  contrary  way!" 

''That  can  not  be  helped,"  said  Berenger;  "it  is  the 
only  safe  place  for  my  foster-brother." 

Aime,  with  childish  i^etulance,  muttered  something 
about  ingratitude  in  crossing  his  lady's  plans;  but,  as  no 
one  attended  to  him,  he  proceeded  to  mifasten  his  horse, 
and  then  exclaimed,  half-crying,  "  Will  no  one  help  me?" 

"  Not  able  to  saddle  a  horse!  a  pretty  fellow  for  a  cava- 
lier!" exclaimed  Philip,  assisting,  however,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  were  all  issuing  from  a  low  side  gate,  and 
looking  back  with  bounding  hearts  at  the  drooping  banner 
on  the  keep  of  Nid-de-Merle. 

Only  young  Ainie  went  with  bowed  head  and  drooping 
look,  as  though  pouting,  and  Berenger,  putting  Osbert's 
bridle  into  Humfrey's  hand,  stepped  up  to  him,  saying, 
"  Hark^'ou,  Monsieur  de  Selinville,  I  am  sorry  if  we  seemed 
to  neglect  you.  We  owe  you  and  your  lady  all  gratitude, 
but  1  must  be  the  judge  of  my  own  duty,  and  you  can  only 
bo  with  me  if  you  conform. ' ' 

The  youth  seemed  to  be  devouring  his  tears,  but  only 
said,  "  I  was  vexed  to  see  my  lady's  plan  marred,  and  your 
chance  thrown  away." 

"  Of  that  I  must  judge,"  said  Berenger. 

T'hey  were  in  a  by-lane,  perfectly  solitary.  The 
whole  country  was  at  the  funeral.  Through  the  frosty  air 
there  came  an  occasional  hum  or  murmur  from  Bellaise, 
or  the  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  in  the  fields,  but  no  human  being 
was  visible.  It  was  certain,  however,  that  the  Rotrous, 
being  Huguenots,  and  no  vassals  of  Nid -de-Merle,  would 
not  be  at  the  obsequies;  and  Berenger,  walking  with  swift 
strides,  supporting  Osbert  on  his  horse,  continued  to  cheer 
him  with  promises  of  rest  and  relief  there,  and  listened  to 
no  entreaties  from  Philip  or  Humfrey  to  take  one  of  their 
horses.  Had  not  Osbert  borne  him  on  his  shoulders 
through  the  butchery  at  Paris,  and  endured  three  years  of 
dungeon  for  his  sake? 

As  for  Philip,  the  slow  pace  of  their  ride  was  all  insuffi- 
cient for  his  glee.  He  made  his  horse  caracole  at  every 
level  space,  till  Berenger  reminded  him  that  they  might 
have  far  to  ride  that  night,  and  even  then  he  was  con- 
stantly breaking  into  attempts  at  shouting  and  whistling 


173  Till!;    CHAPLET    OF    I'EAELS. 

as  often  roprcsseLl,  and  springing  nj^  in  his  stirrups  to  look 
over  the  liigh  hedges. 

The  Grange  was  so  well  concealed  in  its  wooded  ravine, 
that  only,  when  close  upon  the  gate,  the  party  became 
aware  that  this  farm-yard,  usually  so  solitary,  formed  an 
exception  to  the  general  desertion  of  the  country.  There 
was  a  jingle  and  a  stamp  of  horses  in  the  court,  which 
(!ould  hardly  he  daylight  echoes  of  the  jl'emplars.  Berenger 
feared  that  the  Guisards  might  have  descended  uponEotrou, 
ami  was  ste})ping  foi'vvard  to  reconnoiter,  while  young  De 
Selinville,  tiTtnl)ling,  hesought  him  not  to  run  into  danger, 
but  to  turn  and  hasten  to  La  Ivochelle.  By  this  time,  how- 
ever, the  }):irty  had  been  espied  by  two  soldiers  stationed  at 
the  gate,  but  not  before  Bcrenger  had  had  time  to  remark 
that  they  did  not  wear  either  the  gold  jlcur-de-Hf<  hke  his 
late  guards,  or  the  white  cross  of  Lorraine;  nor  had  they 
the  strange  air  of  gay  ferocity  usual  with  the  king's  mer- 
cenaries. And  almost  by  instinct,  at  a  venture,  he  made 
the  old  Huguenot  sign  he  had  learned  from  his  father,  and 
answered,  "  For  God  and  the  lieligion. '' 

The  countersign  was  returned.  Beam  and  Bourbon  is 
the  word  to-day,  comrade,"  replied  the  sentinel.  "  Eh 
qi(oi !  have  you  had  an  encounter,  that  you  bring  a  wound- 
ed man?" 

"  Not  wounded,  but  nearly  dead  in  a  Guisard  prison," 
said  Berenger,  with  an  unspeakable  sense  of  relief  and 
security,  as  the  sentries  admitted  them  into  the  large  walled 
court,  where  horses  were  eating  hay,  being  watered  and 
rubbed  down;  soldiers  snatching  a  hasty  meal  in  corners; 
gentlemen  in  clanking  breast-plates  coming  in  and  out  of 
the  house,  evidenily  taking  orders  from  a  young  man  in  a 
gray  and  silver  suit,  whose  brown  eagle  face,  thin  cheeks, 
arched  nose,  and  black  eyes  of  keenest  lire,  struck  Berenger 
at  once  with  a  sense  of  recognition  as  well  as  of  being  under 
a  glance  that  seemed  to  search  out  everybody  and  every- 
thing at  once. 

''  More  friends!"  and  the  tone  again  recalleil  a  Hood  of 
recollections.  "  I  thank  and  welcome  you.  AV'hat!  You 
have  met  the  enemy — where  is  he?" 

"  My  servant  is  not  wounded,  sire,"  said  Berenger,  re- 
moving bis  hat  and  bending  low.  "  This  is  the  effect  of 
long  captivity.     We  have  but  just  escaped. " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  ITO 

' '  Then  we  are  in  tlie  same  case  I  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  have 
seen  you  before,  but  for  once  I  am  at  fault. " 

"  When  I  call  myself  De  Eibaumont,  your  grace  will  not 
wonder." 

'•'  The  dead  alive!  If  I  mistake  not,  it  was  in  the  In- 
ferno itself  that  we  last  met  I  But  we  have  broken  through 
the  gates  at  last  I  I  remember  poor  King  Charles  was  de- 
lighted to  hear  that  you  lived!  But  where  have  you  been  a 
captive?" 

"  At  Xid-de-Merle,  sire;  my  kinsmen  accused  me  of  trea- 
son in  order  to  hinder  my  search  for  my  wife.  We  escajied 
even  now  during  the  funeral  of  the  chevalier." 

"  By  favor  of  which  we  are  making  our  way  to  Parthenay 
imsuspected,  though,  by  my  faith,  we  gather  so  like  a  snow- 
ball, that  we  could  be  a  match  for  a  few  hundreds  of 
Guisards.     "Who  is  with  you.  Monsieur  de  Eibaumont?" 

"  Let  me  present  to  your  majesty  my  English  brother, 
Phihp  Thistlewood,"  said  Berenger,  drawing  the  lad  for- 
ward, making  due  obeisance,  though  entirely  ignorant  who 
was  the  plainly  dressed,  travel-soiled  stranger,  so  evidently 
a  born  lord  of  men. 

"  An  Englishman  is  ever  welcome,"  was  his  grac.ous  re- 
ception. 

"  And,  "added  Berenger,  '"'let  me  also  present  the  young 
De  Selinville,  to  whom  I  owe  my  escape.  Where  is  he, 
Philip?" 

He  seemed  to  be  busy  with  the  horses,  and  Berenger 
could  not  catch  his  eye. 

"  Selinville!  I  thought  that  good  Huguenot  house  was 
extinct. " 

'"'  This  is  a  relation  of  the  late  Count  de  Selinville,  my 
cousin's  husband,  sire.  He  arranged  my  evasion,  and  would 
be  in  danger  at  Xid -de-Merle.     Call  him,  Philip. " 

Before  this  was  done,  however,  the  king's  attention  was 
otherwise  claimed,  and  turning  to  one  of  his  gentlemen  he 
said,  "  Here,  D'Aubigne,  I  present  to  you  au  acquaintance 
made  in  Tartarus,  See  to  his  entertainment  ere  we  start 
for  Parthenay." 

Agrip2)a  d'Aubigne,  still  young,  but  grave  and  serious 
looking,  greeted  M.  de  Eibaumont  as  men  meet  in  hours 
when  common  interests  make  rapid  friendships;  and  from 
him  Berenger  learned,  in  a  few  words,  that  the  King  of 
Navarre's  eyes  had  been  oj^ened  at  last  to  the  treachery  of 


174  THE  CKAPLET  OF  PEAKLS. 

the  court,  and  his  own  dishonorable  bondage.  During  a 
feverish  attack,  one  night  wlien  D'Aubigne  and  D^Armag- 
nac  were  sitting  up  with  him,  his  resohitiou  was  taken; 
and  on  the  first  hunting-day  after  his  recovery,  he, 
with  these  two,  the  Baron  de  Eosny  and  about  thirty  more 
of  his  suite,  had  galloped  away,  and  had  joined  the  Mon- 
sieur and  the  Prince  of  Conde  at  Alencon.  He  had  abjured 
the  Catholic  faith,  declared  that  nothing  but  ropes  should 
bring  him  back  to  Paris,  and  that  he  left  there  tbe  mass 
and  his  wife — the  first  he  could  dispense  with,  the  last  he 
meant  to  have;  and  he  was  now  on  his  way  to  Parthenay 
to  meet  his  sister,  whom  he  had  sent  Eosny  to  demand. 
By  the  time  Berenger  had  heard  this,  he  had  succeeded  in 
finding  honest  Eotrou,  who  was  in  a  state  of  great  triumph, 
and  readily  undertook  to  give  Osbert  shelter,  and  as  soon 
as  he  should  have  recovered  to  send  him  to  head-quarters 
with  some  young  men  who  he  knew  would  take  the  field  as 
soon  as  they  learned  tiiat  the  King  of  Navarre  had  set  up 
his  standard.  Even  the  inroads  made  into  the  good 
farmer's  stores  did  not  abate  his  satisfaction  in  entertaining 
the  prime  hope  of  the  Huguenot  cause;  but  Berenger  ad- 
vanced as  large  a  sum  as  he  durst  out  of  his  purse,  under 
pretext  of  the  maintenance  of  Osbert  during  his  stay  at  the 
Grange.  He  examined  Eotrou  upon  his  subsequent 
knowledge  of  Isaac  Garden  and  Eustacie,  but  nothing  had 
been  heard  of  them  since  their  departure,  now  nearly  three 
years  back,  excej^t  a  dim  rumor  that  they  had  been  seen  at 
the  Synod  of  Mojitauban. 

"  Well,  my  friend, ''  said  Philip,  when  about  to  remount, 
"  this  will  do  rather  better  than  a  headlong  gallop  to 
Eochelle  with  Nid-de-Merle  at  our  heels.'' ^ 

"If  Monsieur  le  Baron  is  safe,  it  is  well,"  said  Aime 
shortly. 

"  Is  Selinville  there?"  said  Berenger,  coming  up. 
"  Here,  let  me  take  you  to  the  King  of  Navarre:  he  knew 
your  family  in  Languedoc. " 

"  No,  no/'  petulantly  returned  the  boy.  "  What  am  I 
that  he  should  notice  me?  It  is  Monsieur  de  Eibaumont 
whom  I  follow,  not  him  or  his  cause. " 

"Boy,"  said  Berenger,  dismayed,  "remember,  I  have 
answered  for  you. " 

"  I  am  no  traitor,"  proudly  answered  the  strange  boy. 


THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  175 

and  Berenger  was  forced  to  be  thus  satisfied,  though  in- 
tending to  watch  him  closely. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE   SANDS   OF  OLONNE. 

Is  it  the  dew  of  night 

That  on  her  glowing  cheek 
Shines  in  the  moonbeam? — Oh, 'she  weeps,  she  weep«, 
And  the  good  angel  that  abandoned  her 
At  her  hell  baptism,  by  her  tears  drawn  down 
Resumes  his  charge  .  .  .  and  the  hope 

Of  pardon  and  salvation  rose 

As  now  she  understood 

Thy  lying  prophecy  of  truth. 

SouTirEY. 

*' Monsieur  de  Ribaumont,"  said  Henry  of  Navarre, 
as  he  stood  before  the  fire  after  supper  at  Parthenay,  ''  I 
have  been  thinking  what  commission  I  could  give  you  pro- 
portioned to  your  rank  and  influence. ^^ 

"  Thanks  to  your  grace,  that  inquiry  is  soon  answered. 
I  am  a  beggar  here.  Even  my  paternal  estate  in  Normandy 
is  in  the  hands  of  my  cousin. " 

"You  have  wrongs,"  said  Henry,  "and  wrongs  are 
sometimes  better  than  possessions  in  a  party  like  ours. " 

Berenger  seized  the  opening  to  explain  his  position,  and 
mention  that  his  only  present  desire  was  for  permission,  in 
the  first  place,  to  send  a  letter  to  England  by  the  messen- 
ger whom  the  king  was  dispatching  to  Elizabeth,  in  toler- 
able security  of  her  secret  countenance;  and  secondly,  to 
ride  to  Nissard  to  examine  into  the  story  he  had  previously 
heeded  so  little,  of  the  old  man  and  his  daughter  rescued 
from  the  waves  the  day  before  La  Sablerie  was  taken. 

"  If  Pluto  relented,  my  dear  Orpheus,  surely  Navarre 
may/'  said  Henry  good-humoredly;  "  only  may  the  priest 
not  be  more  adamantine  than  Minos.  Where  lies  Nissard? 
On  the  Sables  d'Olonne?  Then  you  may  go  thither  with 
safety  while  we  lie  here,  and  I  shall  wait  for  my  sister,  or 
for  news  of  her.''' 

So  Berenger  arranged  for  an  early  start  on  the  morrow; 
and  young  Selinville  listened  with  a  frown,  and  strange 
look  in  his  dark  eyes.  "  You  go  not  to  England?'-'  he  said, 

"  Not  yet?"  said  Berenger. 


176  THE  CHAfLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  This  was  not  what  my  lady  expected,"  he  muttered; 
but  though  Berenger  silenced  him  by  a  stern  look,  iie  took 
the  first  opportunity  of  asking  Philip  if  it  would  not  be  far 
wiser  for  his  brother  to  place  himself  in  safety  in  England. 

*'  Wiser,  but  less  honest,"  said  Philip. 

"  He  who  has  lost  all  here,  vvlio  has  incurred  his  grand- 
father's anger,"  pursued  Aime,  "  were  he  not  wiser  to 
make  his  peace  with  his  friends  in  England?" 

"  His  friends  in  England  would  not  like  him  the  better 
for  deserting  his  poor  ivife's  cause,"  said  Philip.  "  I  ad- 
vise you  to  hold  your  tongue,  and  not  meddle  or  make. " 

Aime  subsided,  and  Philip  detected  something  like  tears. 
He  had  still  much  of  rude  English  boyhood  about  him,  and 
he  laughed  roughly.  "  A  fine  fellow,  to  weep  at  a  word! 
Hie  thee  back  to  feed  my  lady's  lap-dog,  'tis  all  thou  art 
fit  for." 

"  There  spoke  English  gratitude,"  said  Aime,  with  a 
toss  of  the  head  and  flash  of  the  eye. 

Philip  despised  him  the  more  for  casting  up  his  obliga- 
tions, but  had  no  retort  to  make.  He  had  an  idea  of  mak- 
ing a  man  of  young  Selinville,  and  his  notion  of  the  process 
had  something  of  the  bullying  tendency  of  English  youth 
toward  the  poor-spirited  or  cowardly.  He  ordered  the  boy 
roughly,  teased  him  for  his  ignorance  of  manly  exercises, 
tried  to  cure  his  helj^lessness  by  increasing  his  difficulties, 
and  viewed  his  fatigue  as  affectation  or  effeminacy.  Beren- 
ger interfered  now  and  then  to  guard  the  jjoor  boy  from  a 
horse-jest  or  practical  joke,  but  he  too  felt  that  Aime  was 
a  great  incumbrance,  hopelessly  cowardly,  fanciful,  and 
petulant;  and  he  was  sometimes  driven  to  speak  to  him 
with  severity  verging  on  contempt,  in  hopes  of  rousing  a 
sense  of  shame. 

The  timidity,  so  unusual  and  inexplicable  in  a  youth  of 
eighteen  or  twenty,  showed  itself  irrepressibly  at  the  Sands 
of  Olonne.  These  were  not  misty,  as  on  Berenger's  former 
journey.  Nissard  steei^le  was  soon  in  sight,  and  the  guide 
who  joined  them  on  a  rough  pony  had  no  doubt  that  there 
would  be  ample  time  to  cross  before  high  water.  There 
was,  however,  some  delay,  for  the  winter  rains  had  brought 
down  a  good  many  streams  of  fresh  water,  and  the  sands 
were  heavy  and  wet,  so  that  their  horses  proceeded  slowly, 
and  the  rush  and  dash  of  the  waves  proclaimed  that  the 
flow  of  the  tide  had  begun.     To   the  two  brothers    the 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  177 

break  and  sweep  wa,s  a  home-sound,  speaking  of  freshness 
and  freedom,  and  the  salt  breeze  and  spray  carried  with 
them  life  and  ecstasy.  Phihp  kept  as  near  the  incoming 
waves  as  his  inland-bred  horse  would  endure,  and  sung, 
shouted,  and  hallooed  to  them  as  welcome  as  English 
waves;  but  Aime  de  Selinville  had  never  even  beheld  the 
sea  before:  and  even  when  the  tide  was  still  in  the  distance, 
was  filled  with  nervous  terror  as  each  rushing  fall  sounded 
nearer;  and,  when  the  line  of  white  foamy  crests  became 
more  plainly  visible,  he  was  impelled  to  hurry  on  toward 
the  steeple  so  fast  that  the  guide  shouted  to  him  that  he 
would  only  bury  himself  in  a  quicksand. 

"  But,"  said  he,  white  with  alarm,  and  his  teeth  chatter- 
ing, "  how  can  we  creep  with  those  dreadful  waves  advanc- 
ing upon  us  to  drown  us?'' 

Berenger  silenced  Philip's  rude  laugh,  and  was  beginning 
to  explain  that  the  speed  of  the  waves  could  always  be  cal- 
culated by  an  experienced  inhabitant;  and  his  voice  had 
seemed  to  pacify  Aime  a  little.,  when  the  spreading  water 
in  front  of  a  broken  wave  flowing  up  to  his  horse's  feet, 
again  rendered  him  nearly  frantic.  "  Let  us  go  back!"  he 
wildly  entreated,  turning  his  horse;  but  Berenger  caught 
his  bridle,  saying,  "  That  would  be  truly  death.  Boy,  un- 
less you  would  be  scorned,  restrain  your  folly.  Nothing  else 
imperils  us. " 

Here,  however,  the  guide  interposed,  saying  that  it  had 
become  too  late  to  pursue  their  course  along  the  curve  of 
the  shore,  but  they  must  at  once  cut  straight  across,  which 
he  had  intended  to  avoid,  because  of  the  greater  depth  of  a 
small  river  that  they  would  have  to  cross,  which  divided 
further  out  into  small  channels,  more  easily  forded.  They 
thus  went  along  the  cord  of  the  arc  formed  by  the  shore, 
and  Aime  was  somewhat  reassured,  as  the  sea  was  at  first 
further  off;  but  before  long  they  reached  the  stream,  which 
lost  itself  in  many  little  channels  in  the  sands,  so  that  when 
the  tide  was  out  there  was  a  perfect  net-work  of  little 
streams  dividing  low  shingly  or  grassy  isles,  but  at  nearly 
high  tide  as  at  jjresent,  many  of  these  islets  were  sub- 
merged, and  the  strife  between  river  and  sea  caused  sudden 
deepenings  of  the  water  in  the  channels. 

The  guide  eagerly  explained  that  the  safest  place  for 
crossing  was  not  by  the  large  sand-bank  furthest  inland  and 
looking  firm  and  promising — it  was  a  recent  shifting  j)er- 


178  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

formance  of  the  water's  heaping  up,  and  would  certainly 
sink  away  and  bury  horse  and  man.  They  must  ride  fur- 
ther out,  to  the  shingly  isle;  it  and  the  channels  on  either 
side  had  shingly  bottoms,  and  were  safe. 

"  This  way,''  called  Berenger,  himself  setting  the  ex- 
ample, and  finding  no  ditliculty;  the  water  did  not  rise 
above  his  boots,  and  the  current  was  not  strong.  He  had 
reached  the  shingly  isle  when  he  looked  round  for  his  com- 
panions; Humfrey  and  Philijj  were  close  behind  him;  but, 
in  spite  of  the  loud  ^'  garel"  of.  the  guide,  Aime,  or  his 
horse — for  each  was  equally  senseless  with  alarm — was 
making  inward;  the  horse  was  trying  to  tread  on  the  sand- 
bank, which  gave  way  like  the  water  itself,  under  its  fran- 
tic struggles — there  was  a  loud  cry — a  shrill,  unmistakable 
woman's  shriek: — the  horse  was  sinking — a  white  face  and 
helpless  form  were  being  carried  out  on  the  waves,  but  not 
before  Berenger  had  flung  himself  from  his  horse,  thrown 
off  his  cloak  and  sword,  and  dashed  into  the  water;  and  in 
the  lapse  of  a  few  moments  he  struggled  back  to  tlie  island, 
where  were  Philip  and  Humfrey,  leg-deep  in  water:  the 
one  received  his  burden,  the  other  helped  him  to  land. 

"On,  gentlemen,  not  a  moment  to  lose,"  cried  the 
guide;  and  Berenger,  still  panting,  flung  himself  on  his 
horse,  held  out  his  arms,  gathered  the  small,  almost  inani- 
mate figure  upon  the  horse's  neck  before  him,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  more  they  had  crossed  the  perilous  passage,  and 
were  on  a  higher  bank  where  they  could  safely  halt;  and 
Philip  as  he  came  to  help  his  brother,  exclaimed,  "  What  a 
fool  the  boy  is!" 

"  Hush!"  said  Berenger,  gravely,  as  they  laid  the  figure 
on  the  ground. 

"  What!  He  can't  have  been  drowned  in  that  moment. 
We'll  bring  him  to." 

"  Hands  oft'!"  said  Berenger,  kneeling  over  the  gasping 
form,  and  adding  in  a  lower  voice,  "  Don't  you  see?"  He 
wound  his  hand  in  the  long  drenched  hair,  and  held  it  up, 
with  cheeks  burning  like  lire,  and  his  car  purple. 

"A  woman!  what?  who?"  Then  suddenly  divining,  he 
exclaimed,  "  The  jade!"  and  started  with  wide  eyes. 

"  Stand  back,"  said  Berenger;  "  she  is  coming  to  her- 
self." 

Perhaps  she  had  been  more  herself  than  he  knew,  for,  as 
lie  supported  her  head,  her  hand  stole  over  his  and  held  it 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS.  179 

fast-  Full  of  consternation,  perplexity,  and  anger  as  he 
was,  he  could  not  but  feel  a  softening  pity  toward  a  creat- 
ure so  devoted,  so  entirely  at  his  mercy.  At  the  moment 
when  she  lay  helpless  against  hiui,  gasps  heaving  her  breast 
under  her  manly  doublet,  her  damp  hair  spread  on  his 
knees,  her  dark  eyes  in  their  languor  raised  imploringly  to 
his  face,  her  cold  hand  grasping  his,  he  felt  as  if  this  great 
love  were  a  reality,  and  as  if  he  were  hunting  a  shadow; 
and,  as  if  fate  would  have  it  so,  he  must  save  and  gratify 
one  whose  affection  must  conquer  his,  who  was  so  tender, 
so  beautiful — even  native  generosity  seemed  on  her  side. 
But  in  the  midst,  as  in  his  perplexity,  he  looked  up  over 
the  gray  sea,  he  seemed  to  see  the  picture  so  often  present 
to  his  mind  of  the  pale,  resolute  girl,  clasping  her  babe  to 
her  breast,  fearless  of  the  advancing  sea,  because  true  and 
faithful.  And  at  that  thought  faith  and  prayer  rallied  once 
again  round  his  heart,  shame  at  the  instaut^s  wavering 
again  dyed  his  cheek;  he  recalled  himself,  and  speaking  the 
more  coldly  and  gravely  because  his  heart  was  beating  over- 
hotly,  he  said,  "  Cousin,  you  are  better.  It  is  but  a  little 
way  to  Nissard.^' 

"  Why  have  you  saved  me,  if  you  will  not  pity  me?  she 
murmured. 

"  I  will  not  pity,  because  I  respect  my  kinswoman  who 
has  saved  our  lives, ^'  he  said,  steadying  his  voice  with  diffi- 
culty. "  The  priest  of  Nissard  will  aid  me  in  sparing  your 
name  and  fame." 

"  Ah!''  she  cried,  sitting  up  with  a  start  of  joy,  "  but 
he  would  make  too  many  inquiries!  Take  me  to  England 
first.'' 

Berenger  started  as  he  saw  how  lie  had  been  misunder- 
stood. 

"  Neither  here  nor  in  England  could  my  marriage  be  set 
aside,  cousin.  No;  the  priest  shall  take  charge  of  you,  and 
place  you  in  safety  and  honor. " 

"  He  shall  not!"  she  cried  hotly.  "  Why — why  will  you 
drive  me  from  you — me  who  ask  only  to  follow  you  as  a 
menial  servant?" 

"  That  has  become  impossible,"  he  answered;  "  to  say 
nothing  of  what  my  brother,  my  servant,  and  the  guide  have 
seen;"  and,  as  she  remembered  her  streaming  hair,  and 
tried,  in  dawning  confusion,  to  gather  it  together,  he  con- 
tinued: "  You  shrunk  from  the  eye  of  the  King  of  Kavarre. 


J80  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

You  c£in  not  continue  as  you  have  done;  you  have  not  even 
strength." 

"  Ah!  had  you  sailed  for  England,"  she  murmured. 

"  It  had  only  been  greater  shame,"  he  said.  "  Cousin,  I 
am  head  of  your  family,  husband  of  your  kinswoman,  and 
bound  to  respect  the  reputation  you  have  risked  for  me.  I 
shall,  therefore,  place  you  in  chare;e  of  the  priest  till  you 
can  either  return  to  your  aunt  or  to  some  other  convent. 
You  can  ride  now.  We  will  not  wait  longer  in  these  wet 
garments. '' 

He  raised  her  from  the  ground,  threw  his  own  dry  cioak 
round  her  shoulders  and  unmanageable  hair,  and  lifted  her 
on  his  horse;  but,  as  she  would  have  leaned  against  him, 
he  drew  himself  away,  beckoned  to  Philip,  and  put  the 
bridle  into  his  hands,  saying,  "  Take  care  of  her.  I  shall 
ride  on  and  warn  the  j^riest." 

"  The  rock  of  diamond,"  she  murmured,  not  aware  that 
the  diamond  had  been  almost  melting.  That  youthful 
gravity  and  resolution,  with  the  mixture  of  respect  and 
protection,  iinposed  as  usual  upon  her  passionate  nature, 
and  daunted  her  into  meekly  riding  beside  Philip  without  a 
word — only  now  and  then  he  heard  a  low  moan,  and  knew 
that  she  was  weeping  bitterly. 

At  first  the  lad  had  been  shocked  beyond  measure,  and 
would  have  held  aloof  as  from  a  kind  of  monster,  but  Mme. 
de  Selinville  had  been  the  first  woman  to  touch  his  fancy, 
and  when  he  heard  how  piteously  she  was  weejjing,  and 
recollected  where  lie  should  have  been  but  for  her,  as  well 
as  all  his  own  harsiniess  to  her  as  a  cowardly  boy,  he  felt 
himself  brutally  ungrateful,  and  spoke:  "  Don^t  weep  so, 
madame;  I  am  sorry  I  was  rude  to  you,  but  you  see,  how 
should  I  take  you  for  a  woman?^' 

Perhaps  she  heard,  but  she  heeded  not. 

"  My  brother  will  take  good  care  to  shield  you,"  Philip 
added.  "  He  will  take  care  you  are  safe  in  one  of  your 
nunneries;"  and  as  she  only  wept  the  more,  he  added, 
with  a  sudden  thought,  "  You  would  not  go  there;  you 
would  embrace  the  Protestant  faith?" 

"  I  would  embrace  whatever  was  his." 

Philip  muttered  something  about  seeing  what  could  be 
done.  They  were  already  at  the  entrance  of  the  village, 
and  Berenger  had  come  out  to  meet  them,  and,  springing 
toward  him,  Philip  exclaimed,  in  a  low  voice,  ''  Berry,  she 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAllLS.  181 

Would  abjure  her  Popish  errors!    You  can't  give  her  up  to 
a  priest. " 

"Foolery,  Philip,"  answered  Berenger,  sternly. 
"  If  she  would  be  a  convert!" 

*'  Let  her  be  a  modest  woman  first;"  and  Berenger,  tak- 
ing her  bridle,  led  her  to  the  priest's  house. 

He  found  that  Pere  Colombeau  was  preaching  a  Lent 
sermon,  and  that  nobody  was  at  home  but  the  housekeei)er, 
to  whom  he  had  explained  briefly  that  the  lady  with  him 
liad  been  forced  to  escape  in  disguise,  had  been  nearly 
drowned,  was  in  need  of  refreshment  and  female  clothing. 
Jacinthe  did  not  like  the  sound,  but  drenched  clothes  were 
such  a  passport  to  her  master's  house,  that  she  durst  not 
refuse.  Berenger  carried  off  his  other  companions  to  the 
cabaret,  and  when  he  had  dried  himself,  went  to  wait  for 
the  priest  at  the  church-door,  sitting  in  the  porch,  where 
more  than  one  echo  of  tlie  exhortation  to  repentance  and 
purity  rang  in  his  ears,  and  enforced  his  conviction  that 
here  he  must  be  cruel  if  he  would  be  merciful. 

It  was  long  before  Pere  Colombeau  came  out  and  then, 
if  the  scar  had  not  blushed  for  all  the  rest  of  his  face,  the 
sickly,  lanky  lad  of  three  years  since  would  hardly  have 
been  recognized  in  the  noble,  powerful-looking  young  man 
who  unbonneted  to  the  good  cure.  But  the  priest's  aspect 
was  less  benignant  when  Berenger  tried  to  set  before  him 
liis  predicament;  he  coldly  asked  where  the  unhappy  lady 
was;  and  when  Berenger  expressed  his  intention  of  coming 
the  next  morning  to  ask  his  counsel,  he  only  bowed.  He 
did  not  ask  the  brothers  to  supper,  nor  shosv  any  civility; 
and  Berenger,  as  he  walked  back  to  the  cabaret,  jDerceived 
that  his  story  was  but  half-believed,  and  that,  if  Diane's 
passion  were  still  stronger  than  her  trnth  or  generosity, 
she  would  be  able  to  make  out  a  terrible  case  against  him, 
and  to  willing  ears,  naturally  disposed  against  a  young 
cavalier  and  a  heretic. 

He  sat  much  dispirited  by  the  fire  of  the  little  wine 
shop,  thinking  that  his  forbearance  had  been  well-nigh 
thrown  away,  and  that  his  character  would  never  be  cleared 
in  Eustacie's  eyes,  attaching,  indeed,  more  importance  to 
the  blot  than  would  have  been  done  by  a  youth  less  care- 
fully reared. 

It  was  quite  dark  when  a  knock  came  to  the  door;  the 
cure's  white  head  appeared  in  the  lam]3-light;  he  nodded 


182  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEABL8. 

kindly  to  all  tjie  guests,  and  entreated  that  M.  de  Eibau- 
niont  would  do  him  the  favor  to  come  and  speak  with  him. 

No  sooner  were  they  outside  the  house_,  than  the  cure  hel 
out  his  hand,  saying,  "  Sir,  forgive  me  for  a  grievous  in- 
justice toward  you;"  then  pressing  his  hand,  he  added  with 
a  voice  tremulous  with  emotion.  "  Sir,  it  is  no  slight  thing 
to  have  saved  a  wandering  slieejj  by  your  uprightness  and 
loyalty. " 

"  Have  you  then  opened  here  yes,  father?"  said  Berenger, 
relieved  from  a  heavy  load. 

"  You  have,  my  son,^'  said  the  old  man.  "  You  have 
taught  her  what  truth  and  virtue  are.  For  the  rest,  you 
shall  hear  for  yourself. " 

Before  Berenger  knew  where  he  was,  a  door  was  opened, 
and  he  found  himself  in  the  church.  The  building  was  al- 
most entirely  dark;  there  were  two  tall  lights  at  the  altar 
in  the  distance,  and  a  few  little  sjender  tapers  burning  be- 
fore certain  niches  and  shrines,  but  without  power  to  con- 
quer the  gloom  more  than  enough  to  spread  a  pale 
circle  of  yellow  liglit  beneath  them,  and  to  show  myste- 
riously a  bit  of  vaulting  above.  A  single  lamp  hung  from 
an  arch  near  the  door,  and  beneath  it,  near  a  pillar,  knelt 
or  rather  crouched  on  the  floor  a  female  figure  with  a 
dark  peasant  cloak  drawn  over  her  head. 

"  The  first  token  of  penitence  is  reparation  to  the  in- 
jured," said  the  priest. 

Berenger  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,^'  he  added.  "  See,  I  shall  pray  for 
you  yonder,  by  the  altar,"  and  he  slowly  moved  up  the 
aisle. 

"  Rise,  cousin,  I  entreat  you,"  said  Berenger,  much  em- 
barrassed, as  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

"  I  must  S23eak  thus,"  she  answered,  in  a  hoarse,  ex- 
hausted voice.  "  Ah!  pardon,  jjardon!"  she  added,  rising, 
however,  so  far  as  to  raise  clasped  hands  and  an  imploring 
face.  "Ah!  can  you  pardon?  It  was  through  me  that 
you  bear  those  wounds;  that  she — Eustacie — was  forced 
into  the  mask,  to  detain  you  for  that  night.  Ah!  par- 
don." 

"  That  is  long  past,'"  said  Berenger.  "  I  have  been  too 
near  death  not  to  have  pardoned  that  long  ago.  Rise, 
cousin,  I  can  not  see  you  thus. " 

"  That  is  not  all,"  continued  Diane.    "  It  was  I — I  who 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  183 

moved  my  father  to  imprison  you/'  Then,  as  he  bent  his 
heat],  and  would  have  again  entreated  her  to  rise,  she  held 
out  her  hand  as  if  to  silence  him,  and  spoke  faster,  more 
wildly.  "  Then — then  I  thought  it  would  save  your  life. 
I  thought — "  she  looked  at  him  strangely  with  her  great 
dark  eyes,  all  hollow  and  cavernous  in  her  white  face. 

"  I  know,"  said  Berenger,  kindly,  "  you  often  urged  it 
on  me.''' 

There  was  a  sort  of  movement  on  the  part  of  the  kneel- 
ing figure  of  the  priest  at  the  altar,  and  she  interrupted, 
saying  precipitately,  "  Then— then,  I  did  think  you  free.'^ 

"Ah!"  he  gasped.     "Now—!" 

"  Now  I  know  that  she  lives!"  and  Diane  once  more 
sunk  at  his  feet  a  trembling,  shrinking,  annihilated  heap  of 
shame  and  misery. 

Berenger  absolutely  gave  a  cry  that,  though  instantly  re- 
pressed, had  the  ring  of  ecstasy  in  it.  "  Cousin — cousin!" 
he  cried,  "all  is  forgiven — all  forgotten,  if  you  will  only 
tell  me  where!'* 

"  That  I  can  not,"  said  Diane,  rousing  herself  again,  but 
speaking  in  a  dull,  indifferent  tone,  as  of  one  to  whom  the 
prime  bitterness  was  past,  "  save  that  she  is  under  the  care 
of  the  Duchess  de  Quinet;"  and  she  then  proceeded,  as 
though  repeating  a  lesson:  "  You  remember  the  Italian 
conjurer  whom  you  would  not  consult?  Would  that  I  had 
not?"  she  added,  clasjjing  her  hands.  "His  prediction 
lured  me!  Well,  he  saw  my  father  privately,  told  him  he 
had  seen  her,  and  had  bought  her  jewels,  even  her  hair. 
My  father  sent  him  in  quest  of  her  again,  but  told  not  me 
till  the  man  returned  with  tidings  that  she  was  at  Quinet, 
in  favor  with  the  duchess.  You  remember  that  he  went 
from  home.  It  was  to  demand  her;  and,  ah!  you  know 
how  long  I  had  loved  you,  and  they  told  me  that  your  mar- 
riage was  void,  and  that  all  would  be  well  upon  the  dis- 
pensation coming.  And  now  the  good  father  there  tells 
me  that  I  was  deceived — cruelly  deceived — that  such  a  dis- 
pensation would  not  be  granted  save  through  gross  mis- 
representation."  Then,  as  Berenger  began  to  show  tokens 
of  eagerness  to  come  at  tidings  of  Eustacie,  she  continued, 
"  Ah!  it  is  vain  to  seek  to  excuse  one  you  care  not  for. 
My  father  could  learn  nothing  from  the  duchess;  she 
avowed  that  she  had  been  there,  but  would  say  no  more. 
However,  he  and  my  brother  were  sure  she-  was  under  their 


18i  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS. 

protection;  tliey  took  measures;,  and — and  the  morning  my 
poor  father  was  stricken,  there  had  been  a  letter  from  my 
brother  to  say  he  was  on  her  track,  and  matters  must  be 
ended  with  you,  for  he  shouM  have  her  in  a  week;''  and 
then,  as  Berenger  started  forward  with  an  inarticulate  out- 
burst, half  of  horror,  half  of  interrogation,  she  added, 
"  Where,  he  said  not,  nor  did  I  learn  from  him.  All  our 
one  interview  was  spent  in  sneers  that  answered  to  my  v»^ild 
entreaties;  but  this  I  know — that  you  would  never  have 
reached  Tours  a  living  man." 

*'  And  now,  now  he  is  on  the  way  to  her!"  cried  Beren- 
ger, "  and  you  kept  it  from  me!" 

"There  lay  my  hope,"  said  Diane,  raising  her  head; 
and  now,  with  glittering  eyes  and  altered  voice,  "  How 
could  I  not  but  hate  her  who  had  bereaved  me  of  you;  her 
for  whose  sake  I  could  not  earn  your  love?" 

The  change  of  her  tone  had,  perhaps,  warned  the  priest 
to  draw  nearer,  and  as  she  jierceived  him,  she  said,  "  Yes, 
father,  this  is  not  the  way  to  absolution,  but  my  heart  will 
burst  if  I  say  not  all.  " 

"  Thou  shalt  not  prevail,  foul  spirit,"  said  the  priest, 
looking  earnestly  into  the  darkness,  as  though  he  beheld 
the  fiend  hovering  over  her,  "  neither  shall  these  holy  walls 
be  defiled  with  accents  of  unhallowed  love.  You  have  made 
your  reparation,  daughter;  it  is  enough. " 

"  And  can  you  tell  me  no  more?"  said  Berenger,  sadly. 
"  Can  you  give  me  no  clew  that  I  may  save  her  from  the 
wolf  that  may  be  already  on  her  track?  Cousin,  if  you 
would  do  this,  I  would  bless  you  forever." 

"  Alas!  I  would  if  I  could!  It  is  true,  cousin,  I  have  no 
heart  to  deceive  you  any  longer.  But  it  is  to  Madame  de 
Quinet  that  you  must  apply,  and  if  my  brother  has  thought 
me  wortli  pursuit,  you  may  be  in  time!  One  moment,"  as 
he  would  have  sprung  away  as  if  in  the  impulse  to  fly  to 
the  rescue — "cousin;  had  you  gone  to  England  as  I 
hoped,  I  would  have  striven  to  deserve  to  win  that  love  of 
yours,  but  you  have  conquered  by  your  constancy.  Now, 
father,  I  have  spoken  my  last  save  as  penitent. " 

She  covered  her  head  and  sunk  down  again. 

Berengei:,  bewildered  and  impelled  to  be  doing  some- 
thing, let  the  priest  lead  him  out  before  he  exclaimed,  "  I 
said  nothing  to  her  of  pardon!" 

"  Y^ou  do  pardon?"  said  the  priest. 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  185 

He  paused  a  moment.  "  Freely,  if  I  find  my  wife.  I 
can  only  remember  now  that  she  set  me  on  the  way.  I 
would  ease  her  soul,  poor  thing,  and  thinking  would  make 
me  hard  again/' 

"  Do  the  English  bring  up  their  sons  with  such  feel- 
ings?'' asked  the  cure,  pausing  for  a  moment. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Berenger.  "  May  I  say  that  one  word, 
sir?" 

"  Not  DOW,"  said  the  priest;  "  she  had  better  be  left  to 
think  of  her  sin  toward  Heaven,  rather  than  toward  m'an." 

"  But  do  you  leave  her  there,  sir?" 

'' I  shall  return.  I  shall  pray  for  her  true  penitence," 
said  the  priest,  and  Berenger  perceived  from  his  tone  that 
one  without  the  pale  might  inquire  no  further.  He  only 
asked  how  safe  and  honorable  shelter  could  be  found  for 
her;  and  the  cure  replied  that  he  had  already  spoken  to 
her  of  the  convent  of  Lucon,  and  should  take  her  there  so 
soon  as  it  could  safely  be  done,  and  that  Abbess  Monique, 
he  trusted,  would  assist  her, crushed  spirit  in  finding  the 
path  of  penitence.  He  thought  her  cousin  had  better  not 
endeavor  to  see  her  again;  and  Berenger  himself  was  ready 
to  forget  her  very  existence  in  his  burning  anxiety  to  out- 
strip Narcisse  in  the  quest  of  Eustacie. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

OUR    LADY     OF    HOPE. 

Welcome  to  danger's  hour, 
Brief  greeting  serves  the  time  of  strife. 

Scott. 

As  soon  as  it  was  possible  to  leave  Nissard,  Berenger 
was  on  his  way  back  to  head-quarters,  where  he  hoped  to 
meet  the  Duke  de  Quinet  among  the  many  Huguenot  gen- 
tlemen who  were  flocking  to  the  Bourbon  standard;  nor 
was  he  disappointed  in  the  hope,  for  he  was  presented  to  a 
handsome  middle-aged  gentleman,  who  told  him,  with 
much  politeness,  that  he  was  aware  that  his  mother  had 
had  the  honor  to  receive  and  entertain  Mme.  de  Ribau- 
mont,  and  that  some  months  ago  he  had  himself  arranged 
for  the  conveyance  of  her  letters  to  England,  but,  he  said, 
with  a  smile,  he  made  a  point  of  knowing  nothing  of  his 
mother's  guests,  lest  his  duties  as  a  governor  might  clash 


186  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

with  those  of  hosjoitality.  He  offered  to  expedite  M.  de 
Ribaiimont's  journey  to  Quinet,  observing  that,  if  Nid-de- 
Merle  were,  indeed,  on  the  point  of  seizing  the  lady,  it 
must  be  by  treachery;  indeed  he  had,  not  ten  days  back, 
had  the  satisfaction  of  h&nging  an  Itahan  mountebank  who 
had  last  year  stolen  a  whole  packet  of  dispatches,  among 
them  letters  from  Mme.  de  Ribaumont,  and  the  fellow  was 
probably  acting  as  a  spy  ujDon  her,  so  that  no  time  was  to 
be  lost  in  learning  from  his  mother  where  she  was.  On  the 
next  morning  he  was  about  to  send  forward  twenty  men  to 
re-enforce  a  little  frontier  garrison  on  the  River  Dronne,  and 
as  M.  le  Baron  must  j^ass  through  the  place,  it  would  be 
conferring  a  favor  on  him  to  take  the  command.  The 
men  were  all  well  mounted,  and  would  not  delay;  and 
when  once  across  the  frontier  of  Guyenne,  no  escort  would 
be  needed. 

Berenger  gladly  accepted  the  proposal.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  he  was  thus  involved  in  the  civil  war,  and  bear- 
ing arms  against  the  sovereign.  In  spite  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's alliance  with  the  French  Court,  she  connived  at  her 
youthful  subjects  seeking  the  bubble  reputation  in  the 
mouths  of  Valois  cannon;  and  so  little  did  Henry  III.  seem 
to  Berenger  to  be  his  king,  that  he  never  thought  of  the 
question  of  allegiance— nay,  if  the  royal  officers  were  truly 
concerned  in  his  arrest,  he  was  already  an  outlaw.  This 
was  no  moment  for  decision  between  Catholic  and  Calvinist; 
all  he  wanted  was  to  recover  his  wife  and  forestall  her 
enemies. 

Henry  of  Navarre  gave  his  full  consent  to  the  detach- 
ment being  jDlaced  under  charge  of  M.  de  Ribaumont.  He 
asked  somewhat  significantly  what  had  become  of  the  young 
gentleman  who  had  attended  M.  de  Ribaumont,  and  Philip 
blushed  crimson  to  the  ears,  while  Berenger  replied,  with 
greater  coolness  than  he  had  given  himself  credit  for,  that 
the  youth  had  been  nearly  drowned  on  the  Sables  d'Olonne, 
and  had  been  left  at  Dom  Colombeau's  to  recover.  The 
sharp-witted  king  looked  for  a  moment  rather  as  Sir  Hugh 
the  Heron  did  when  Marmion  accounted  for  his  page's  ab- 
sence, but  was  far  too  courteous  and  too  insoKciant  to  press 
the  matter  further,  though  Berenger  saw  quite  enough  of 
his  expression  to  feel  that  he  had  been  delivered  from  his 
comjDanion  only  just  in  time. 

Berenger  set  forth  as  soon  as  his  impatience  could  prevail 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  187 

to  get  the  men  into  their  saddles.  Ue  would  fain  have 
ridden  day  and  night,  and  grudged  every  halt  for  refresh- 
ment, so  as  almost  to  run  the  risk  of  making  the  men 
mutinous.  Evening  was  coming  on,  and  his  troop  had  dis- 
mounted at  a  cabaret,  in  front  of  which  he  paced  up  and 
down  with  Philip,  trying  to  devise  some  joretext  for  hasten- 
ing them  on  another  stage  before  night,  when  a  weary, 
travel-stained  trooper  rode  up  to  the  door  and  was  at  once 
hailed  as  a  comrade  by  the  other  men,  and  asked,  "  What 
cheer  at  Pont  de  Dronne?" 

"  Bad  enough,'^  he  answered,  "  unless  you  can  make  the 
more  speed  there!"  Then  making  obeisalice  to  Berenger 
he  continued  his  report,  saying  that  Captain  Falconnet  was 
sending  him  to  M.  le  Due  with  information  that  the 
Guisards  were  astir,  and  that  five  hundred  gendarmes 
under  the  black  Nid-de-Merle,  as  it  was  said,  were  on  their 
way  intending  to  surprise  Pont  de  Dronne,  and  thus  cut 
the  King  of  Navarre  off  from  Guyeune  and  his  kingdom 
beyond  it.  After  this  Berenger  had  no  more  difficulty  with 
liis  men,  who  were  most  of  them  Q,uinet  vassals,  with 
homes  south  of  the  Dronne,  and  the  messenger  only  halted 
for  a  hasty  meal,  hasteiiing  on  to  the  duke,  that  a  more 
considerable  succor  might  at  once  be  dispatched. 

"  Is  she  there  whom  they  call  the  Lady  of  Hope?^'  asked 
one  of  the  soldiers,  a  mercenary,  less  interested  than  most 
of  his  comrades,  as  he  had  only  a  fortnight  since  transferred 
his  services  from  Guise  to  Quiuet. 

'*  Our  Lady  of  Sadness  just  now,' '  replied  the  messenger; 
"  her  old  father  is  at  the  jooint  of  death.  However,  she  is 
there,  and  at  our  last  siege  twenty  wine-skins  would  not  so 
well  have  kept  up  men's  hearts." 

"  And  the  little  one,  the  white  fairy,  is  she  there  too? 
They  say  'tis  a  spirit,  a  changeling  that  could  not  brook  the 
inside  of  a  church,  but  flew  out  of  the  Moustier  at  Mon- 
tauban  like  a  white  swan,  in  the  middle  of  a  sermon." 

"  I  only  know  I've  seen  her  sleep  like  a  dormouse  through 
prayers,  sermon,  and  all  at  Po)it  de  Dronne.  Folleffe  if 
she  be,  she  belongs  to  the  white  elves  of  the  moonhght." 

"  Well,  they  say  bullets  won't  touch  her,  and  no  place 
can  be  taken  where  she  is,"  replied  the  trooper.  "  Nay, 
that  Italian  peddler  rogue,  the  same  that  the  duke  has  since 
hung,  has  sold  to  long  Gilles  and  snub-nosed  Pierre  silver 


188  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

bullets^  wherewith  they  have  sworn  to  shoot  the  one  or  the 
other  next  time  they  had  a  chance. '^ 

These  words  were  spoken  at  no  great  distance  from 
Berenger,  but  passed  by  him  as  mere  men-at-arms'  gossip, 
in  his  eagerness  to  expedite  the  start  of  his  party;  and  in 
less  than  an  hour  they  were  en  ovnte  for  Pont  de  Dronne: 
but  hasten  as  he  would,  it  was  not  till  near  noon  the  next 
day  that  he  came  in  sight  of  a  valley^  through  which  wonnd 
a  river,  crossed  by  a  high-backed  bridge,  with  a  tall  pointed 
arch  in  the  middle,  and  a  very  small  one  on  either  side. 
An  old  building  of  red  stone,  looking  like  what  it  was — a 
monastery  converted  into  a  fortress — stood  on  the  nearer,  or 
northern  bank,  and  on  the  belfry  tower  waved  a  flag  with 
the  arms  of  Quinet. .  Higher  up  the  valley,  there  was  an 
ominous  hum,  and  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust;  and  the  gen- 
darmes who  knew  the  conntry  rejoiced  that  they  were 
come  just  in  time,  and  exchanged  anxious  questions  whether 
the  enemy  were  not  fording  tiie  river  above  them,  so  as  to 
attack  not  only  the  fortress  on  this  northern  side,  but  the 
bridge  tower  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  river. 

Spurring  down  the  hill,  the  party  were  admitted,  at  the 
well-guarded  gate-way,  into  a  large  thickly  walled  yard, 
where  the  soldiers  and  horses  remained,  and  Berenger  and 
Philip,  passing  through  a  small  arched  door-way  into  the 
body  of  the  old  monastery,  were  conducted  to  a  great  wain- 
scoted hall,  where  a  puli^it  projecting  from  the  wall,  and 
some  defaced  eml^lsmatic  ornaments,  showed  that  this  had 
once  been  the  refectory,  though  guard-room  appliances  now 
occupied  it.  The  man  who  had  show^n  them  in  left  them, 
saying  he  would  acquaint  Captain  Falcon  net  with  their 
arrival,  and  just  then  a  sound  of  singing  drew  both  brothers 
to  the  window.  It  looked  out  on  what  had  once  been  the 
quadrangle,  bounded  on  three  sides  by  the  church,  the 
refectory,  and  the  monks'  lodgings,  the  cloistered  arcade 
running  round  all  these.  The  fourth  side  was  skirted  by 
the  river,  which  was,  however,  concealed  by  an  endiank- 
ment,  raised,  no  doubt,  to  supj)ly  the  place  of  the  wall,  which 
had  been  unnecessary  to  the  peaceful  original  inhabitants. 
What  attracted  Berenger's  eyes  was,  however,  a  group  in 
the  cloister,  consisting  of  a  few  drooi)ing  figures,  some  of 
men  in  steel  cajis,  others  of  veiled,  shrouded  women,  and 
strange,  mingled  feelings  swept  over  him  as  he  caught  the 
notes  of  the  psalm  ov^er  the  open  grave — 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS.  189 

"Si  qu'en  paix  et  seurte  bonne 
Coucherai  ct  reposcrai — 
Car,  Seigneur,  ta  bonte  tout  ordonne 
Et  elle  seule  espoir  donne 
Que  seur  et  sain  regnant  serai." 

*'  Listen,  Philip/'  he  said,  with  moistening  eyes;  then  as 
they  ended,  "It  is  the  Fourih  Psalm:  '  I  lay  me  down  in 
peace  and  take  my  rest/  Eastacie  and  I  used  to  sing  it  to 
my  father.  It  was  well  done  in  these  mourners  to  sing  it 
over  him  whom  they  are  laying  down  to  take  his  rest  while 
the  enemy  are  at  the  gates.  See,  the  jioor  wife  still  kneels 
while  the  rest  disperse;  how  dejected  and  utterly  desolate 
she  looks. " 

He  was  so  intently  watching  her  as  not  to  perceive  the 
entrance  of  a  tall,  grizzled  old  man  in  a  steel  cap,  evidently 
the  commander  of  the  garrison.  There  was  the  brief  Avel- 
come  of  danger's  hour — the  briefer,  because  Captain  Fal- 
conne  was  extremely  deaf,  and,  taking  it  for  granted  that 
the  new-comers  were  gentlemen  of  the  Duke's,  proceeded 
to  appoint  them  their  posts  without  further  question. 
Berenger  had  intended  to  pursue  his  journey  to  Quinet 
without  delay,  but  the  intelligence  that  the  enemy  were  on 
the  southern  as  well  as  the  northern  side  of  the  river  ren- 
dered this  impossible;  and  besides,  in  defending  this  key  of 
Guyenne  against  Narcisse,  he  was  also  defending  Eustacie. 

The  state  of  affairs  was  soon  made  known  to  him.  The 
old  monastery,  covering  with  its  walls  an  extensive  space, 
formed  a  fortress  quite  strong  enough  to  resist  desultory 
attacks,  and  protect  the  long  bridge,  which  was  itself 
strongly  walled  on  either  side,  and  with  a  barbacan  at  the 
further  end.  In  former  assaults  the  attacks  had  always 
been  on  the  north,  the  Catholic  side,  as  it  might  be  called; 
but  now  the  enemy  had  crossed  the  river  above  the  fort, 
and  were  investing  the  place  on  both  sides.  Long  foresee- 
ing this,  the  old  commandant  had  guarded  the  bank  of  the 
river  with  an  earth-work,  a  long  mound  sloped  irregularly 
on  either  hand,  over  which  numerous  little  paths  had  since 
been  worn  by  the  women  within,  when  on  their  way  to  the 
river  with  their  washing;  but  he  had  been  setting  every 
one  to  work  to  destroy  and  fill  up  these,  so  that  the  ram- 
part was  smooth  and  sloping,  perfectly  easy  indeed  to  cross, 
out  high  and  broad  enough  to  serve  as  an  effectual  j^rotec- 
tion  against  such  artillery  as  the  detached  troojDS  of  the 


190  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

Guise  party  were  likely  to  possess;  and  the  river  was  far 
too  wide,  deep,  and  strong  in  its  main  current  to  be  forded 
in  the  face  of  a  hostile  garrison.  Tlie  captain  had  about 
fifty  gendarmes  in  his  garrison,  besides  the  twenty  new- 
comers whom  he  persisted  in  regarding  as  Berenger's 
cliarge;  and  there  were,  besides,  some  seventy  2)easants  and 
silk  spinners,  who  had  come  into  the  place  as  a  refuge  from 
the  enemy — and  with  these  he  hoped  to  hold  out  till  succor 
should  come  from  the  duke.  He  himself  took  the  command 
of  the  north  gate,  where  the  former  assaults  had  been 
made,  and  he  intrusted  to  his  new  ally  the  tower  protecting 
the  bridge,  advising  him  to  put  on  armor;  but  Berenger, 
trying  on  a  steel  cap,  found  that  his  head  could  not  bear 
the  weight  and  heat,  and  was  forced  to  return  to  his  broad- 
brimmed  82oanish  hat,  while  Pliilip  in  high  glee  armed  him- 
self as  best  he  could  with  what  Cajitain  Falconnet  could 
lend  him.  He  was  too  much  excited  to  cat  of  the  scanty 
meal  that  was  set  before  them:  a  real  fight  seemed  like  a 
fair-day  to  him,  and  he  v;as  greatly  exalted  by  his  brother^s 
post  of  command — a  post  that  Berenger  felt  a  heavy  re- 
sponsibility, only  thrust  upon  him  by  the  commandant's  in- 
capacity of  hearing  how  utterly  inexperienced  he  was. 

The  formal  summons  to  surrender  to  the  king,  and  the 
refusal,  had  duly  passed,  and  it  became  evident  that  the 
first  attack  was  to  be  on  ihe  bridge-gate.  Captain  Falcon- 
net  hurried  to  the  place,  and  the  fighting  was  hot  and  des- 
perate. Every  assailant  who  tried  to  throw  his  fagot  int^ 
the  moat  became  a  mark  for  arquebuse  or  pistol,  and  tli," 
weapons  that  had  so  lately  hung  over  the  hearth  at  Nid-de 
Merle  were  now  aimed  again  and  again  at  the  heads  and 
corslets  of  Guisards,  with  something  of  the  same  exulting 
excitement  as,  only  higher,  more  engrossing,  and  fiercer 
than  that  with  which  the  lads  had  taken  aim  at  a  wolf,  or 
ridden  after  a  fox.  Scaling-ladders  were  planted  and 
hurled  down  again;  stones  were  cast  from  the  battlements, 
crushing  the  enemy;  and  throughout  Berenger's  quick  eye, 
alert  movements,  and  great  height  and  strength,  made 
him  a  most  valuable  champion,  often  applauded  by  a  low 
murmur  of  commendation  from  old  Falconnet,  or  a  loud 
shout  of  "  Ha,  well  done,  the  duke's  Englishman,'^  from 
the  gendarmes — for  English  they  would  have  him  to  be 
— on  the  presumptions  afforded  by  his  companions,  Ids 
complexion,  and  his  slow  speech.     Nor  did   Philip  and 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  191 

Humfrey  fail  to  render  good  service.  But  just  as  the 
enemy  had  been  foiled  in  a  sharp  assault  and  were  drae;ging 
avva}^  their  wounded,  Philip  touched  liis  brother,  and  say- 
ing, "I  can  hold  out  no  longer,"  showed  blood  trickling 
down  his  rigiit  side. 

Berenger  threw  an  arm  round  him,  and  Cai^tain  Falcon- 
net  seeing  his  case,  said,  "  You  are  hit,  ])etit  Anglais; 
you  have  done  gallantly.  There  will  be  time  for  you  to 
take  him  to  his  quarters,  sir;  these  fellows  have  had  enough 
for  the  present,  and  you  can  tarry  with  him  till  you  hear 
the  bugle.  Whither,  did  you  ask?  Let  me  see.  You, 
Henaud,  take  him  to  the  chapel:  the  old  chancel  behind 
the  boarding  will  be  more  private;  and  desire  madame  to 
look  to  him.  Farewell!  I  hope  it  may  prove  slight;  you 
are  a  brave  youth.  ^'  And  he  shook  hands  with  Philip, 
whose  intense  gratification  sustained  him  for  many  ste])s 
afterward. 

He  hardly  remembered  receiving  the  hurt,  and  was  at 
first  too  busy  to  heed  it,  or  to  call  off  any  one's  attention, 
until  a  dread  of  falling,  and  being  trodden  on,  had  seized 
him  and  made  him  speak;  and  indeed  he  was  so  dizzy  that 
]3erenger  with  difficulty  kept  him  on  his  feet  over  the 
bridge,  and  in  the  court  lifted  him  in  his  arms  and  carried 
him  almost  fainting  into  the  cloister,  where  by  the  new- 
made  grave  still  knelt  the  black-veiled  mourner.  She 
started  to  her  feet  as  the  soldier  spoke  to  her,  and  seemed 
at  first  not  to  gather  the  sense  of  his  words;  but  then,  as  if 
with  an  effort,  took  them  in,  made  one  slight  sound  like 
a  moan  of  remonstrance  at  the  mention  of  the  place,  but 
again  recollecting  herself,  led  the  way  along  a  stone  pas- 
sage, into  which  a  flight  of  stairs  descended  into  the  ajisidal 
chancel,  roughly  boarded  off  from  the  rest  of  the  church. 
It  was  a  ruinous,  desolate  place,  and  Berenger  looked  round 
in  dismay  for  some  jalace  on  which  to  lay  down  his  almost 
unconscious  burden.  The  lady  bent  her  head  and  signed 
toward  the  stone  sedilia  in  the  wall;  then,  after  two  in- 
effectual essays  to  make  her  voice  audible,  choked  as  it  was 
with  long  weeping,  she  said,  low  and  huskily:  "  We  will 
make  him  more  comfortable  soon;"  and  added  some  orders 
to  the  soldier,  who  disappeared  up  the  stairway,  and  Beren- 
ger understood  that  he  was  gone  to  fetch  bedding.  Then 
taking  from  under  her  heavy  mourning  cloak  a  lai-ge  pair 
of  scissors,  she   signed   to  Berenger  how  to  sujiport  his 


193  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAEL8. 

brother,  while  they  reheved  him  of  his  corslet,  sword-belt 
and  doublet.  The  soldier  had  meantime  returned  with  an 
old  woman,  both  loaded  with  bedding,  which  she  signed  to 
them  to  arrange  in  one  of  the  little  bays  or  niches  that 
served  to  form  a  crown  of  lesser  chapels  around  the  chan- 
cel. She  flung  aside  her  muffling  cloak,  but  her  black 
hood  still  hung  far  over  her  face,  and  every  now  and  then 
hand  or  handkerchief  was  lifted  as  if  to  clear  her  eyes  from 
the  tears  that  would  not  cease  to  gather  and  blind  her;  and 
she  merely  spoke  when  some  direction  to  an  assistant,  some 
symjjathetic  word  to  the  patient,  was  needed.  Even  Philip 
in  his  dizzy  trance  guessed  that  he  was  succeeding  to  the 
bed  whence  one  much  dearer  had  gone  to  his  quieter  rest 
in  the  cloister.  Before  he  was  laid  there,  however,  the 
bugle  sounded;  there  was  a  loud  shout,  and  Philip  ex- 
claimed, "  Go,  brother!" 

"  Trust  him  to  me,  sir,^'  said  the  sunken,  extinguished 
voice;  "  we  will  do  our  best  for  him.  " 

He  was  forced  merely  to  lift  Philijj  to  the  bed,  and  to 
hurry  away,  while  the  soldier  followed  him  saying,  consol- 
ingly, "  Fear  not,  sir,  now  our  Lady  of  Hope  has  him. 
Nothing  goes  ill  to  which  she  sets  her  hand." 

Another  growl  of  artillery  was  now  heard,  and  it  was 
time  for  the  warriors  to  forget  the  wounded  in  the  exigencies 
of  the  present.  An  attack  was  made  on  both  gates  at  once, 
and  the  commandant  being  engaged  at  his  own  post,  Beren- 
ger  had  to  make  the  utmost  of  his  brief  experience,  backed 
by  the  counsel  of  a  tough  old  sergeant:  and  great  was  his 
sense  of  exhilaration,  and  absolute  enjoyment  in  this  full 
and  worthy  taxing  of  every  power  of  mind  or  bod3^  The 
cry  among  the  enemy,  "  Aim  at  the  black  plume,"  attested 
his  prominence;  but  the  black  plume  was  still  unscathed 
when  spring  twilight  fell.  The  din  began  to  subside;  re- 
calls were  sounded  by  the  besiegers;  and  J^erenger  heard  his 
own  exploit  bawled  in  the  ear  of  the  deaf  commandant,  who 
was  advancing  over  the  bridge.  The  old  captain  compli- 
mented him,  told  him  that  he  should  be  well  reported  of  to 
M.  le  Due  and  Sieur  la  Noue,  and  invited  him  to  supi^er 
and  bed  in  his  own  quarters.  The  supper  ]Jerenger  ac- 
cepted, so  soon  as  he  should  know  how  it  was  with  his 
brother;  but  as  to  bed,  he  intended  to  watch  his  brother, 
and  visit  his  2)0st  from  time  to  time. 

The  captain  entered  by  the  main  door  of  the  chapel, 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  193 

whore  ten  or  twelve  wounded  were  now  lying,  tended  by 
peasant  women.  Berenger  merely  passed  through,  seeing 
as  he  went  the  black  hood  busy  over  a  freshly  brought  in 
patient.  He  found  a  door  which  admitted  him  through  the 
rough  screen  of  boards  to  the  choir  where  he  had  been  in 
the  earlier  part  of  the  day.  The  moonlight  came  through 
the  shivered  eastern  windows,  but  a  canvas  curtain  had 
been  hung  so  as  to  shelter  Philip's  vaulted  recess  from  the 
cold  draught,  and  the  bed  itself,  with  a  chair  beside  it, 
looked  neat,  clean  and  comfortable.  Philip  himself  waa 
cheery;  he  said  the  bullet  had  made  a  mere  flesh-wound, 
and  had  passed  out  on  the  other  side,  and  the  Lady  of  Hope, 
as  they  called  her,  was  just  such  another  as  Aunt  Cecily, 
and  had  made  him  very  comfortable,  with  clean  linen,  good 
cool  drinks,  and  the  tenderest  hand.  But  he  was  very 
sleepy,  so  sleepy  that  he  hardly  cared  to  hear  of  the  com- 
bat, oidy  he  roused  himself  for  a  moment  to  say,  "  Brother, 
I  have  seen  Dolly. " 

"  Dolly!" 

*' Our  sister  Dolly." 

' '  Ah,  Phil !  many  a  strange  visitor  has  come  to  me  in  tlio 
Walnut  Chamber  at  home." 

"  I  tell  you  I  was  in  my  perfect  senses,"  returned  Phili]); 
"  there  she  was,  just  as  when  we  left  her.  And,  what  was 
stranger  still,  she  talked  French." 

"  Sleej)  and  see  her  again,"  laughed  Berenger. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

THE    SILVER   BULLET. 

I  am  all  wonder,  O  my  son!  my  soul 

Is  stunned  within  me;  powers  to  speak  to  him 

Or  to  interrogate  him  have  I  none, 

Or  even  to  loolc  on  him. 

CowTER,  Odyssey. 

In"  his  waking  senses  Philiji  adhered  to  his  story  that  his 
little  sister  Dolly  had  stood  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  called 
him  "  le  pauvre,"  and  had  afterM^ard  disappeared,  led  away 
by  the  nursing  lady.  It  seemed  to  Berenger  a  mere  delu- 
sion of  feverish  weakness;  for  Philip  had  lost  a  great  deal 
of  blood,  and  the  wound,  though  not  dangerous,  permitted 
no  attempt  at  moviug,  and  gave  much  pain.     Of  the  per- 

7-3d  half. 


194  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

fections  of  the  lady  as  nurse  and  eurgeoii  Philip  could  not 
say  enough,  and,  pale  and  overwejit  as  he  allowed  her  to  be, 
he  declared  that  he  was  sure  that  her  beauty  must  equal 
Mme.  de  Selinville's.  Berenger  laughed,  and  looking  round 
this  strange  hospital,  now  lighted  by  the  full  rays  of  the 
morning  sun,  he  was  much  struck  by  the  scene. 

It  was  the  chancel  of  the  old  abbey  church.  The  door  by 
which  they  had  entered  was  very  small,  and  perhaps  had  led 
merely  to  the  abbot's  throne,  as  an  irregularity  for  his  own 
convenience,  and  only  made  manifest  by  the  rending  away 
of  the  rich  wooden  stall  work,  some  fragments  of  which  still 
clung  to  the  walls.  The  east  end,  like  that  of  many  French 
churches,  formed  a  semicircle,  the  high  altar  having  been 
in  the  center,  and  live  tall  deep  bays  forming  lesser  chapels 
embracing  it,  their  vaults  all  gathered  up  into  one  lofty 
crown  above,  and  a  slender  pillar  separating  between  each 
chapel,  each  of  which  further  contained  a  tall  narrow  win- 
dow. Of  course,  all  had  been  utterly  desolated,  and  Philip 
was  actually  lying  in  one  of  these  chapels,  where  the 
sculptured  figure  of  St.  John  and  his  Eagle  still  remained 
on  the  wall;  and  a  sufficient  remnant  of  his  glowing 
sanguine  robe  of  love  was  still  in  the  window  to  serve  as  a 
shield  from  the  hise.  The  high  altar  of  rich  marbles  was 
a  mere  heap  of  shattered  rubbish;  but  what  surprised 
Berenger  more  than  all  the  ruined  architectural  beauty 
which  his  cinque-cento  trained  taste  could  not  understand, 
was,  that  the  tiles  of  the  pavement  were  perfectly  clean, 
and  diligently  swept,  the  rubbish  piled  up  in  corners;  and 
here  and  there  the  relics  of  a  cross  or  carved  figure  lay  to- 
gether, as  by  a  tender,  reverential  hand.  Even  the  morsels 
of  painted  glass  had  been  placed  side  by  side  on  the  fioor, 
so  as  to  form  a  mosaic  of  dark  red,  blue,  and  green;  and  a 
cliild's  toy  lay  beside  this  piece  of  patch-work.  h\  the  midst 
of  his  observations,  however.  Captain  Falconnet's  servant 
came  to  summon  him  to  breakfast;  and  the  old  woman  aji- 
pearing  at  the  same  time,  he  could  not  help  asking  whether 
the  lady  were  coming. 

"  Oh  yes,  she  will  come  to  dress  his  wound  in  good  time," 
answered  the  old  woman. 

"  And  when?  I  should  hke  to  hear  what  she  thinks  of 
it,''  said  Berenger. 

"  How?"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  certain  satisfaction 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  195 

ill  his  disapiiointmcnfc;  "  is  our  Lady  of  IIopc  to  be  coming 
down  among  you  gay  gallants?" 

"  Bat  who  is  this  Lady  of  Hope?"  demanded  he. 

"Who  should  she  be  but  our  good  pastor  ^s  daughter? 
Ah!  and  a  brave,  good  daughter  she  was  too,  abiding  the 
siege  because  his  breath  was  so  bad  that  he  could  not  be 
mcved," 

"What  was  his  name?"  asked  Berenger,  attracted 
strangely  by  what  he  heard. 

"  Eibault,  monsieur  —  Pasteur  Eibault.  Ah!  a  good 
man,  and  sound  preacher,  when  j^reach  he  could ;  but  when 
he  could  not;,  his  very  presence  kejjt  the  monks'  revenants 
from  vexing  us — as  a  cat  keeps  mice  away;  and,  ah!  the 
children  have  been  changed  creatures  since  madame  dealt 
with  them.  What!  monsieur  would  know  why  they  call 
her  our  Lady  of  Hope?  Esperance  is  her  true  name;  and, 
moreover,  in  the  former  days  this  abbey  had  an  image  that 
they  called  Notre-Dame  de  I'Esperance,  and  the  poor  de- 
ceived folk  thought  it  did  great  miracles.  And  so,  when 
she  came  hither,  and  wrought  such  cures,  and  brought 
blessings  wherever  she  went,  it  became  a  saying  among  us 
that  at  length  we  had  our  true  Lady  of  Hope.'' 

A  more  urgent  summons  here  forced  Berenger  away, 
and  his  repetition  of  the  same  question  received  much  the 
same  answer  from  deaf  old  Cajatain  Falconnet.  He  was 
obliged  to  repair  to  his  post  with  merely  a  piece  of  bread  in 
his  hand;  but,  though  vigilance  was  needful,  the  day  bade 
fair  to  be  far  less  actively  occupied  than  its  predecessor:  the 
enemy  were  either  disposed  to  turn  the  siege  into  a  block- 
ade, or  were  awaiting  re-enforcements  and  heavier  artillery; 
and  there  were  only  a  few  desultory  attacks  in  the  early 
part  of  the  morning.  About  an  hour  before  noon,  however, 
the  besiegers  seemed  to  be  drawing  out  m  arms,  as  if  to  re- 
ceive some  jjerson  of  rank,  and  at  the  same  time  sounds 
were  hea.rd  on  the  hills  to  the  eastward,  as  if  troops  were 
on  the  march.  Berenger  having  just  been  told  by  the  old 
sergeant  that  probably  all  would  be  quiet  for  some  time 
longer,  and  been  almost  laughed  at  by  the  veteran  for  con- 
sulting him  whether  it  would  be  permissible  for  him  to  be 
absent  a  few  minutes  to  visit  his  brother,  was  setting  out 
across  the  bridge  for  the  purpose,  his  eyes  in  the  direction 
of  the  rampart,  which  followed  the  curve  of  the  river.  The 
paths  which — as  has  been  said — the  feet  of  the  washerwom- 


196  THE    CETAPLET    OP    PEARLS. 

en  and  drawers  of  water  had  worn  away  in  quieter  times, 
had  been  smootlied  and  scarjjed  away  on  the  outer  side,  so 
as  to  come  to  an  abrupt  termination  some  feet  above  the 
gay  marigolds,  coltsfoot,  and  other  spring  flow^ers  that 
smiled  by  the  watez*-side.  Suddenly  he  beheld  on  the  ram- 
part a  tiny  gray  and  white  figure,  fearlessly  trotting,  or 
rather  dancing,  along  the  summit,  and  the  men  around 
him  exclaimed,  "  The  little  moonbeam  child!''  "  A  fairy 
— a  changeling!"  "  They  can  not  shoot  at  such  a  babe!" 
"  Nor  could  they  harm  her!"  "  Hola!  little  one!  Gave! 
go  back  to  your  mother!"  "  Do  not  disturb  yourself,  sir; 
she  is  safer  than  you,"  were  the  ejaculations  almost  at  tlie 
same  moment,  while  he  sprung  forward,  horrified  at  the 
peril  of  such  an  infant.  He  had  reached  the  angle  between 
the  bridge  and  rampart,  when  he  perceived  that  neillier 
humanity  nor  superstition  was  protecting  the  poorchil'; 
for,  as  she  turned  down  the  remnant  of  one  of  the  treacher- 
ous little  paths,  a  man  in  bright  steel  and  deep  black  had 
spurred  his  horse  to  the  river's  brink,  and  was  deliberately 
taking  aim  at  her.  Furious  at  such  brutality,  Berenger 
fired  the  pistol  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  the  wretch  dro23i)ed 
from  his  horse;  but  at  the  same  moment  his  pistol  exploded, 
and  the  child  rolled  doivn  the  bank,  whence  a  jMteous  wail 
came  up,  impelling  Berenger  to  leap  down  to  her  assistance, 
in  the  full  face  of  the  enemy.  Perhaps  he  was  protected 
for  tlie  moment  by  the  confusion  ensuing  on  the  fall  of  the 
officer;  and  when  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  bank,  he 
saw  the  little  creature  on  her  feet,  her  round  cap  and  gray 
woolen  dress  stripped  half  off  in  the  fall,  and  her  fiaxen 
hair  falling  round  her  plump,  white,  exposed  shoulder,  but 
evidently  unhurt,  and  gathering  yellow  marigolds  as  com- 
jjosedly  as  though  she  had  been  making  May  garlands.  He 
snatched  her  up,  and  she  said,  with  the  same  infantine 
dignity,  "  Yes,  take  me  up;  the  naughty  people  spoiled 
the  jiatli.  But  I  must  take  my  beads  first. "  And  she 
tried  to  struggle  out  of  his  arms,  pointing  therewith  to  a 
broken  string  among  the  marshy  herbage  on  which  gleamed 
— the  pearls  of  Ribaumont! 

In  the  few  seconds  in  which  he  grasped  them,  and  then 
bore  the  child  u])  the  embankment  in  desperate  bounds,  a 
hail  of  bullets  poured  round  him,  ringing  on  his  breasc- 
plate,  shearing  the  plume  from  his  hat,  but  scarcely  even 
heard;  and  in  another  moment  he  had  sprung  down,  on  the 


THE    CHAPLET    OP    PEARLS.  10? 

inner  sule^  grasjiing  the  child  with  all  his  might,  but  not 
daring  even  to  look  at  her,  in  the  wondrous  flash  of  that 
first  conviction.  She  spoke  flrst.  "  Put  me  down,  and  let 
me  have  my  beads,"  she  said  in  a  grave,  clear  tone;  and 
then  first  he  beheld  a  pair  of  dark-blue  eyes,  a  sweet  wild- 
rose  face — Dolly's  all  over.  He  jaressed  her  so  fast  and  so 
close,  in  so  speechless  and  overpowering  an  ecstasy,  that 
again  she  repeated,  and  in  alarm,  "  Put  me  down,  I  want 
my  mother!" 

"  Yes,  yes!  your  mother!  your  mother!  your  mother!" 
lie  cried,  unable  to  let  her  out  of  his  embrace;  and  then 
restraining  himself  as  he  saw  her  frightened  eyes,  in  abso- 
lute fear  "of  her  spurning  him,  or  struggling  from  him, 
"  My  sweet!  my  child!  Ah!  do  you  not  know  me?" 
Then,  remembering  how  wild  this  was,  he  struggled  to 
speak  calmly:  "  What  are  you  called,  my  treasure?'' 

"I  am  la  petite  Rmjonette,'"  she  said,  with  puzzled 
dignity  and  gravity;  "  and  my  mother  says  I  have  a  beau- 
tiful long  name  of  my  own  besides." 

"  Berengere — my  lierongere — " 

"*Tliat  is  what  she  says  over  me,  as  I  go  to  sleep  in  her 
bosom  at  night/'  said  the  child,  in  a  wondering  voice,  soon 
exchanged  for  entreaty,  "  Oh,  hug  me  not  so  hard!  Oh, 
let  me  go — let  me  go  to  her!     Mother!  mother!" 

"  My  child,  mine  own,  I  am  taking  thee! — Oh,  do  not 
struggle  with  me!"  he  cried,  himself  imploring  now. 
"  Child,  one  kiss  for  thy  father;"  and  meantime,  putting 
absolute  force  on  his  vehement  afTection,  he  was  hurrying 
to  the  chancel. 

There  Philip  hailed  them  with  a  shout  as  of  desperate 
anxiety  relieved;  but  before  a  word  could  be  uttered,  down 
the  stairs  flew  the  Lady  of  Hope,  crying  wildly,  "  Not 
there — she  is  not — "  but  perceiving  the  little  one  in  the 
stranger's  arms,  she  held  out  her  own,  crying,  "  Ah!  is 
she  hurt,  my  angel?" 

"Unhurt,  Eustacie!  Our  child  is  unhurt!"  Berenger 
said,  with  an  agonized  endeavor  to  be  calm;  but  for  the 
moment  her  instinct  was  so  entirely  absorbed  in  examining 
into  the  soundness  of  her  child's  limbs,  that  she  neither 
saw  nor  heard  anything  else. 

"  Eustacie,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm.  She 
started  back,  with  bewildered  eyes.  "  Eustacie — wife!  do 
you  not  know  me?     Ah!  I  forgot  that  I  am  changed." 


198  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

"  You — you — "  she  gasped,  utterly  confounded,  and 
gazing  as  if  turned  to  stone,  and  tliougli  at  tliat  moment 
the  vibration  of  a  mighty  discharge  of  cannon  roclced  the 
walls,  and  strewed  Philiji's  bed  witli  the  crimson  shivers  of 
St.  John's  robe,  yet  neither  of  them  would  have  been  sen- 
sible of  it  had  not  liumfrey  rushed  in  at  the  same  moment, 
crying,  "  They  are  coming  on  like  fiends,  sir!" 

Berenger  j^assed  his  hand  over  his  face.  "  You  will 
know  me  when — if  I  return,  my  dearest,^'  he  said.  "  If 
not,  then  still,  thank  God!     Philijj,  to  you  I  trust  them!" 

And  with  one  kiss  on  that  still,  cold,  almost  petrified 
brow,  he  had  dashed  away.  There  was  a  space  of  absolute- 
ly motionless  silence,  save  that  Eustacie  let  herself  drop  on 
the  chancel  step,  and  the  child,  presently  breaking  the 
spell,  pulled  lier  to  attract  her  notice  to  the  flowers. 
"  Mother  here  are  the  soucis  for  the  poor  gentleman's 
broth.  See,  the  naughty  jieoi^le  had  spoiled  all  the  paths, 
and  I  rolled  down  and  tore  my  frock,  and  down  fell  the 
beads,  but  be  not  angry,  mother  dear,  for  the  good  gentle- 
man picked  them  up,  and  carried  me  up  the  bank." 

"  The  bank!"  cried  Eustacie,  with  a  scream,  as  the  sense 
of  the  words  reached  her  ears.  "Ah!  no  wonder!  Well 
might  thy  danger  bring  thy  father's  spirit;"  and  she 
grasped  the  little  one  fervently  in  her  arms,  murmuring, 
"  Thank,  thank  God,  indeed!  Oh!  my  precious  one;  and 
did  He  send  that  blessed  S2)irit  to  rescue  thee?" 

"  And  will  you  tie  up  my  frock,  and  may  I  put  the  flow- 
ers into  the  broth?"  chattered  Eayonette.  "  And  why  did 
he  kiss  me  and  hug  me  so  tight;  and  how  did  he  know  what 
you  say  over  me  as  we  fall  aslee])?'' 

Eustacie  clasped  her  tighter,  with  a  convulsive  shudder 
of  thankfulness;  and  Pliilij),  but  half  hearing,  and  barely 
gathering  the  meaning  of  her  mood,  ventured  to  sjicak, 
"  Madame—" 

As  if  touched  by  an  electric  shock,  Eustacie  started  up, 
as  recalled  to  instant  needs,  and  coming  toward  him  said, 
"  Do  you  want  anything,  sir?  Pardon  one  who  has  but 
newly  seen  a  spirit  from  the  other  world — brought  by  his 
child's  danger."  And  the  dazed,  trance-like  look  was  re- 
turning. 

"  Spirit!"  cried  Philip.  "  Nay,  madame,  it  was  him- 
self. Ah!  and  you  are  she  whom  we  have  sought  so  long; 
and  this  dear  child — no  wonder  she  has  Dolly's  face. " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  199 

"  Who — what?"  said  Eustacie,  pressing  her  temjiles 
with  her  hands,  as  if  to  retain  her  senses.  "  Speak;  was 
yonder  a  hving  or  dead  man — and  who?" 

''  Living,  thank  God!  and  your  own  husband;  that  is,  if 
you  are  really  Eustacie.  x\re  you  indeed?"  he  added,  be- 
coming doubtful. 

"  Eustacie,  that  am  I,"  she  murmrued.  "But  he  is 
dead — they  killed  him;  I  saw  the  blood  where  he  had  wait- 
ed for  me.  Ilis  child's  danger  brought  him  from  the  grave. ' ' 
"  No,  no.  Look  at  me,  sister  Eustacie.  Listen  to  me. 
Osbert  brought  him  home,  more  dead  than  alive — but  alive 
still. " 

"No!"  she  cried,  half  passionately.  "  Never  could  he 
have  lived  and  left  me  to  mourn  him  so  bitterly.^' 

"  If  you  knew — •"  cried  Philip,  growing  indignant.  "  For 
weeks  he  lay  in  deadly  lethargy,  and  when,  with  his  left 
hand,  he  wrote  and  sent  Osbert  to  you,  your  kinsfolk  threw 
the  poor  fellow  into  a  dungeon,  and  put  us  off  with  lies 
that  you  were  married  to  your  cousin.  All  believed,  only 
he — sick,  helpless,  speechless,  as  he  was — he  trusted  you 
still;  and  so  soon  as  Mericour  came,  though  he  could 
scarcely  brook  the  saddle,  nothing  would  hold  him  from 
seeking  you.  We  saw  only  rum  at  La  Sablerie,  and  well- 
nigh  ever  since  have  we  been  clajiped  up  in  prison  by  your 
uncle.  We  were  on  the  way  to  Quinet  to  seek  yon.  He 
has  kept  his  faith  whole  through  wounds  and  pain  and  ju'ison 
and  threats — ay,  and  sore  temptation,"  cried  Philip,  wax- 
ing eloquent;  "  and,  oh,  it  can  not  be  that  you  do  not  care 
for  him  I" 

"  Doubt  not  my  faith,  sir,"  said  Eustacie,  proudly;  "  I 
have  been  as  true  to  him  as  if  I  had  known  he  lived.  Nor 
do  I  know  who  you  are  to  question  me." 

At  this  moment  the  child  pressed  forward,  holding  be- 
tween her  two  careful  plump  hands  a  red  earthenware  bowl, 
with  the  tisane  steaming  in  it,  and  the  yellow  petals  strewn 
over  the  surface.  She  and  Philip  had  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  each  other,  and  while  her  mother  was  busy  with  the 
other  patients,  she  had  been  left  to  her  quiet  play  with  her 
fragments  of  glass,  which  she  carried  one  by  one  to  display, 
held  up  to  the  light,  to  her  new  friend;  who,  in  his  weak 
state,  and  after  his  long  captivity,  found  her  the  more 
charming  playmate  because  she  so  strangely  reminded  him 
of  his  own  little  sisters.     She   thought   herself   liis  little 


200  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEA  ELS. 

nurse,  and  missing  from  his  broth  the  yellow  petals  that 
she  had  been  wont  to  think  the  charm  of  tisane,  the  house- 
wifely little  being  bad  trotted  off,  unseen  and  unmissed, 
across  the  quadrangle,  over  the  embankment,  where  she 
had  often  gathered  them,  or  attended  on  the  "  lessive  "  on 
the  river's  brink;  and  now  she  broke  forth  exultingly, 
"  Here,  here  is  the  tisane,  with  all  the  soucis.  Let  me 
feed  you  with  them,  sir." 

"  Ah!  thou  sweet  one,'^  gasped  Philip,  "  I  could  as  soon 
eat  them  as  David  could  drink  the  water!  For  tbese — -for 
these — I"  and  the  tears  rushed  into  his  eyes.  "Oh!  let 
me  but  kiss  her,  madame;  I  loved  her  from  the  first  mo- 
ment. She  has  the  very  face  of  my  little  sister — my  little 
sister  and  Berenger's.  What,  thou  little  sweeting  (what 
French  word  is  good  enough  for  her?)  didst  run  into  peril 
for  me,  not  knowing  how  near  I  was  to  thee?  What,  must 
I  eat  it?     Love  me  then. " 

But  the  boarded  door  was  thrown  back,  and  "  Madame, 
more  wounded,''  resounded.  The  thrill  of  terror,  the 
elastic  reaction,  at  the  ensuing  words,  "  from  the  north 
gate,"  was  what  made  Eustacie  in  an  instant  know  herself 
to  be  not  widow  but  wife.  She  turned  round  at  once,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand,  and  saying  with  a  shaken,  agitated  voice; 
"  Mon  frere,  pardon  me,  I  know  not  what  I  say;  and,  after 
all,  he  will  find  me  bicn  median fe  still."  Then  as  Pbilip 
devoured  her  hand  with  kisses,  and  held  it  fast,  "I  must 
go;  these  poor  men  need  me.     When  I  can,  I  will  return." 

"  Only  lot  me  have  the  little  one,"  entreated  Philip;  "  it 
is  almos-t  home  already  to  look  at  her. " 

And  when  Eustacie  next  looked  in  on  them,  they  were 
both  fast  asleep. 

She,  poor  thing,  the  only  wcman  with  brains  among  the 
many  scared  females  in  the  garrison,  might  not  rest  or  look 
tbe  wonder  in  the  face.  Fresh  sufferers  needed  ber  care, 
and  related  gallant  things  of  "the  duke's  Englishman," 
things  of  desperate  daring  and  prowess  that  sent  the  blood 
throbbing  to  her  heart  with  exultation,  but  only  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  a  pang  of  anguish  at  having  let  him  go  back  to 
peril — nay,  perhaps,  to  death — without  a  word  of  tenderness 
or  even  recognition.  She  imaged  him  as  the  sunny-faced 
youth  who  had  claimed  her  in  the  royal  castle,  and  her 
longing  to  be  at  his  side  and  cling  to  him  as  his  own  became 
every  moment  more  fervent  and  irresistible,  until  she  glad- 


THE    CHArLET    OF    PEAKLS.  201 

ly  recollected  the  necessity  of  carrying  food  to  the  defend- 
ers; and  snatching  an  interval  from  her  hospital  caroe,  she 
sped  to  the  old  circular  kitchen  of  the  monastery,  where 
she  found  the  lame  baker  vainly  trying  to  organize  a  party 
of  frightened  women  to  carry  provisions  to  the  garrison  of 
the  bridge-tower. 

"  Give  some  to  me,"  she  said.  "  My  husband  is  there! 
I  am  come  to  fetch  his  dinner. " 

The  peasant  women  looked  and  whispered  as  if  they 
thought  that,  to  add  to  their  misfortunes,  their  Lady  of 
liope  had  become  distracted  by  grief;  and  one  or  two,  who 
held  the  old  faith,  and  were  like  the  crane  among  the  spar- 
rows, even  observed  that  it  was  a  judgment  for  the  profane 
name  that  had  been  given  her,  against  which  she  had  her- 
self unifarmly  protested. 

"  My  husband  is  come,"  said  Eustacie,  looking  round 
with  shining  eyes.  "Let  us  be  brave  wives,  and  not  let 
our  men  famish. ' ' 

She  lifted  up  a  loaf  and  a  pitcher  of  broth,  and  with  the 
latter  poised  on  her  erect  and  graceful  head,  and  clastic 
though  steady  step,  she  led  the  way;  the  others  foil  iving' 
her  with  a  sort  of  awe,  as  of  one  they  fancied  in  a  super- 
human state.  In  fact,  there  was  no  great  danger  in  trav- 
ersing the  bridge  with  its  lofty  parapet  on  either  side;  and 
her  mind  was  too  much  exalted  and  moved  to  be  sensible 
of  anything  but  a  certain  exulting  awe  of  the  battle  sounds. 
There  was,  however,  a  kind  of  lull  in  the  assault  which  had 
raged  so  fiercely  ever  since  the  fall  of  the  officer,  and  the 
arrival  of  the  re-enforcements.  Either  the  enemy  had 
l^aused  to  take  food,  or  were  devising  some  fresh  mode  of 
attack;  and  as  the  line  of  women  advanced,  there  started 
forth  from  under  the  arch  a  broad-shouldered,  white- faced, 
golden-bearded  personage,  who  cried  joyously,  "  My  dear- 
est, my  bravest!  this  for  me!"  and  lifted  the  pitcher  from 
her  head  as  he  grasped  her  hand  with  a  flesh-and- blood 
clasp  indeed,  but  the  bright-cheeked,  wavy-haired  lad  of 
her  dream  withered  away  with  a  shock  of  disappointment, 
and  she  only  looked  up  with  wistful  puzzled  earnestness  in- 
stead of  uttering  the  dear  name  that  she  had  so  long  been 
whispering  to  herself.  "  Dearest,"  he  said,  "  this  is  pre- 
cious indeed  to  me,  that  you  should  let  me  feast  my  eyes 
once  more  on  you.  But  you  may  not  tarry.  The  rogues 
may  renew  their  attack  at  any  moment. " 


202  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAEL3. 

She  had  thought  of  herself  as  insisting  on  standing  be- 
side him  and  sharing  his  peril.  Had  he  been  himself,  she 
must  have  done  so,  but  this  was  a  stranger,  whose  claim- 
ing her  made  her  shrink  apart  till  she  could  feel  the  iden- 
tity which,  though  she  believed,  she  could  not  realize,  ller 
hand  lay  cold  and  tremulous  within  his  warm  pressure,  but 
he  was  too  much  wrought  up  and  too  full  of  joy  and  haste 
to  be  sensible  of  anything  but  of  the  brave  affection  that 
had  dared  all  to  come  to  him;  and  he  was  perfectly  hajipy, 
even  as  a  trumpet-call  among  the  foe  warned  him  to  press 
her  fingers  to  his  Yi^is  and  say,  as  his  bright  blue  eye 
kindled:  "God  grant  that  we  may  meet  and  thank  Him 
to-night!  Farewell,  my  lost  and  found!  I  fight  as  one 
who  has  something  to  fight  for." 

He  might  not  leave  his  jiost,  but  he  watched  her  with 
eyes  that  could  not  be  satiated,  as  she  recrossed  the  bridge; 
and,  verily,  his  superabundant  ecstasy,  and  the  energy  that 
was  born  of  it,  were  all  needed  to  sustain  the  spirits  of  his 
garrison  through  that  terrible  afternoon.  The  enemy 
seemed  to  be  determined  to  carry  the  place  before  it  could 
be  relieved,  and  renewed  the  storm  again  and  again  with 
increasmg  violence;  while  the  defenders,  disheartened  by 
their  pertinacity,  dismayed  at  the  effects  of  the  heavy  ar- 
tillery, now  brought  to  bear  on  the  tower,  and  direfully 
afraid  of  having  the  bridge  destroyed,  would  have  aban- 
doned their  barbican  and  shut  themselves  up  within  the  body 
of  the  place  had  not  Berenger  been  here,  there,  and  every- 
where, directing,  commanding,  exhorting,  cheering,  en- 
couraging, exciting  enthusia^i  by  word  and  exam])le,  win- 
ning proud  admiration  by  feats  of  valor  and  dexterity 
sprung  of  the  ecstatic  inspirntion  of  new-found  bliss,  and 
watching,  as  the  conscious  defender  of  his  own  most  be- 
loved, without  a  moment's  respite,  till  twilight  stillness 
sunk  on  the  enemy,  and  old  Falconnetcame  to  relieve  him, 
thanking  him  for  his  gallant  defense,  and  auguring  that, 
by  noonday  to-morrow  at  latest,  M.  le  Due  would  succor 
them,  unless  he  were  hampered  by  any  folly  of  this  young 
Navarre. 

Too  blissful  for  the  sense  of  fatigue,  Berenger  began  to 
impart  to  the  commandant  his  delight,  but  the  only  answer 
he  got  was  "  Hojoe,  yes,  every  hope;"  and  he  again  recog- 
nized what  he  had  already  perceived,  that  the  indistinct- 
ness of  his  utterance  made  him  entirely  unintelligible  to 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEAELS.  S03 

the  deaf  commandant,  and  that  shouting  did  but  proclaim 
to  the  whole  garrison,  perhaps  even  to  the  enemy's  camp, 
what  was  still  too  new  a  joy  not  to  be  a  secret  treasure  of 
delight.  So  he  only  wrung  the  old  captain's  hand,  and 
strode  away  as  soon  as  he  was  released. 

It  was  nearly  dark,  in  spite  of  a  rising  moon,  but  be- 
neath the  cloister  arch  was  torch-light,  glancing  on  a  steel 
head-piece,  and  on  a  white  cap,  both  bending  down  over  a 
prostrate  figure;  and  he  heard  the  voice  he  loved  so  well 
say,  "  It  is  over!  I  can  do  no  more.  It  were  best  to  dig 
his  grave  at  once  here  in  silence — it  will  discourage  the  peo- 
ple less.     Eenaud  and  Armand,  here!" 

He  jjaused  for  a  few  minutes  unseen  in  the  shadow  while 
she  closed  the  eyes  and  composed  the  limbs  of  the  dead  sol- 
dier; then,  kneeling,  said  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  French  over 
him.  Was  this  the  being  he  had  left  as  the  petted  play- 
thing of  the  palace?  When  she  rose,  she  came  to  the  arch 
and  gazed  wistfully  across  the  moonlit  quadrangle,  beyond 
the  dark  shade  cast  by  the  buildings,  saying  to  the  soldier, 
"  You  are  sure  he  was  safe!'"' 

"My  Eustacie,"  said  Berenger,  coming  forward,  "we 
meet  in  grave  times!" 

The  relief  of  knowing  him  safe  after  the  sickening  yearn- 
ings aiid  suspense  of  the  day,  and  moreover  the  old  ring  of 
tenderness  in  his  tone,  made  her  spring  to  him  with  real 
warmth  of  gladiiess,  and  cry,  "  It  is  you!     All  is  well," 

"  Blessedly  well,  ma  mie,  my  sweetheart,"  he  said,  throw- 
ing his  arm  round  her,  and  she  rested  against  him  mur- 
muring, "  Now  I  feel  it!  Thou  art  thyself!"  They  were 
in  the  dark  cloister  passage,  and  when  he  would  have  moved 
forward  she  clung  closer  to  him,  and  murmured,  "  Oh, 
wait,  wait,  yet  an  instant.  Thus  I  can  feel  that  I  have 
thee — the  same — my  own!" 

"  My  poor  darling,"  said  Berenger,  after  a  second,  "  yon 
must  learn  to  bear  with  both  my  looks  and  speech,  though 
I  be  but  ■,  sorry  shattered  fellow  for  you." 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  hanging  on  him  M-ith  double  fervor. 

"  No,  I  am  loving  you  the  more  already — doubly — treb- 
ly— a  thousand  times.  Only  those  moments  were  so 
precious,  they  made  all  these  long  years  as  nothing.  But 
come  to  the  little  one,  and  to  your  brother." 

The  rttle  one  had  already  heard  them,  and  was  starting 
forward  to  meet  them,  though  daunted  for  a  moment  by 


204  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

the  siglit  of  the  strange  father;  she  stood  on  the  pavementj 
in  the  fu'l  tlood  of  the  moonlight  from  the  east  window, 
which  whitened  her  fair  face,  flaxen  hair,  and  gray  dress, 
so  tliat  she  did  truly  look  like  some  S2)irit  woven  of  the 
moonbeams.  E-nstacie  gave  a  cry  of  satisfaction:  "Ah, 
good,  good;  it  was  by  moonlight  that  I  saw  her  first !'^ 

Berenger,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  held  her  to  his  breast 
with  a  sense  of  insatiable  love,  while  Philij)  exclaimed, 
''  Ay,  well  may  you  make  much  of  her,  brother.  Well 
might  you  seek  them  far  and  wide.  Such  treasures  are 
not  to  be  found  in  the  wide  world." 

Berenger,  without  answering,  carried  the  little  one  to  the 
step  of  the  ruined  higli  altar,  and  there  knelt,  holding  Eus- 
tacie  by  the  hand,  the  child  in  one  arm,  and,  with  the  moon 
glancing  on  his  high  white  brow  and  earnest  face,  he  si^oke 
a  few  words  of  solemn  thanks  and  prayer  for  a  blessing  on 
their  reunion,  and  the  babe  so  wonderfully  ji reserved  to 
them. 

Not  till  then  did  he  carry  her  into  the  lam 2>light  by  Phil- 
ip's bed,  and  scan  therein  every  feature,  to  satisfy  his  eyes 
with  the  fulfilled  hope  that  had  borne  him  through  those 
darkest  days,  when,  despairing  of  the  mother,  the  thought 
of  the  child  had  still  sustained  him  to  throw  his  will  into 
the  balance  of  the  scale  between  life  and  death.  Little 
Berengere  gazed  up  into  his  face  silently,  M'ith  wondering, 
grave,  and  somewhat  sleepy  eyes  and  then  he  saw  them  fi^ 
themselves  on  his  powder-grimed  and  blood-stained  hands. 
"Ah!  little  heart/' he  said,  "I  am  truly  in  no  state  to 
handle  so  pure  a  piece  of  sugar  as  thou ;  I  should  have  rid 
myself  of  the  battle-stains  ere  touching  thee,  but  how  recol- 
lect anything  at  such  a  moment?" 

Eustacie  was  glad  he  had  broken  the  spell  of  silence;  for 
having  recovered  her  husband,  her  first  instinct  was  to  wait 
upon  him.  She  took  the  chikl  from  him,  explaining  thaf^ 
she  was  going  to  i^ut  her  to  bed  in  her  own  rooms  uji  the 
stone  stair,  which  for  the  present  were  filled  with  the  fugi- 
tive women  and  children  who  liad  come  in  from  the  coun- 
try, so  that  the  chancel  must  continue  the  lodging  of  Be- 
renger and  his  brother;  and  for  the  time  of  her  absence  she 
brought  him  water  to  wash  away  the  stains,  and  set  before 
him  the  soup  she  had  kept  warm  over  her  little  charcoal 
brazier.  It  was  only  when  thus  left  that  he  cotdd  own,  in 
answer  to  Philip's  inquiries,  that  he  could  feel  either  hunger 


THE    CIIArLET    OF    PEARLS.  205 

or  weariness;  nay,  he  would  only  acknowledge  enough  of 
the  latter  to  give  a  perfect  charm  to  rest  under  such  au- 
spices. Eustacie  had  disjiatched  her  motherly  cares  promptly 
enough  to  be  with  him  again  just  as  in  taking  off  his  corslet 
he  had  found  that  it  had  been  pierced  by  a  bullet,  and  pur- 
suing the  trace,  through  his  doublet,  he  found  it  lodged  in 
that  purse  which  he  had  so  long  worn  next  his  heart,  where 
it  had  sjient  its  force  against  the  single  pearl  of  Ribaumont. 
And  holding  it  nj)  to  the  light,  he  saw  that  it  was  of  silver. 
Then  there  returned  on  him  and  Philip  the  words  they  had 
heard  two  days  before,  of  silver  bullets  forged  for  the  de- 
struction of  the  white  moonlight  fairy,  and  he  further  re- 
membered the  moment's  shock  and  blow  that  in  the  midst 
of  his  wild  amaze  on  the  river's  bank  had  made  him  gather 
his  breath  and  strength  to  bound  desjierately  upward,  lest 
the  next  moment  he  should  find  himself  wounded  and 
powerless. 

For  the  innocent,  then,  had  the  shot  been  intended;  and, 
she  running  into  danger  out  of  her  sweet,  tender  instincts 
of  helpfulness,  had  been  barely  saved  at  the  extreme  peril 
of  her  unconscious  father's  life.  Philip,  whose  vehement 
affection  for  the  little  one  had  been  growing  all  day,  was  in 
the  act  of  telling  Berenger  to  string  the  bullet  in  the  place 
of  the  injured  pearl,  as  the  most  precious  heir-loom  of 
Ribaumont  bravery,  when  Eustacie  returned,  and  learning 
all,  grew  pale  and  shuddered  as  danger  h:id  never  made  her 
do  before:  but  this  strange  day  had  almost  made  a  coward 
of  her. 

"  And  this  it  has  spared,"  said  Berenger,  taking  out  the 
string  of  little  yellow  shells.  "  Dost  know  them,  sweet- 
heart?   They  have  been  my  chaplet  all  this  time." 

"Ah!"  cried  Eustacie,  "poor,  good  Mademoiselle 
Noemi !  she  threaded  them  for  my  child,  when  she  was  very 
little.  Ah !  could  she  have  given  them  to  you — could  it 
then  not  have  been  true — that  horror?" 

"  Alas!  it  was  too  true.  I  found  these  shells  in  the 
empty  cradle,  in  the  burned  house,  and  deemed  them  all  I 
should  ever  have  of  my  babe. " 

"  Poor  Noemi!  poor  Noemi!  She  always  longed  to  be  a 
martyr;  but  we  fled  from  her,  and  the  fate  we  had  brought 
on  her.  That  was  the  thought  that  preved  on  my  dear 
father.  He  grieved  so  to  have  left  his  sheep — and  it  was 
only  for  my  sake.     Ah!  I  have  brought  evil  on  all  who 


206  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

have  been  good  to  me,  beginning  with  you.  You  had  bet- 
ter cast  me  off,  or  I  shall  bring  yet  worse!" 

*'  Let  it  be  so,  if  we  are  only  together," 

He  drew  her  to  him  and  she  laid  her  head  on  his  shoul- 
der, murmuring,  "  Ah!  father,  father,  were  you  but  here 
to  see  it.  So  desolate  yesterday,  so  ineffably  blessed  to-day. 
Oh!  I  can  not  even  grieve  for  him  now,  save  that  he  could 
not  just  have  seen  us;  yet  I  think  he  knew  it  would  be  so." 

"  Nay,  it  may  be  that  he  does  see  us,"  said  Berenger. 
"  "Would  that  I  had  known  who  it  was  whom  you  were  lay- 
ing down  '  en  paix  et  seurte  honnc  !'  As  it  was,  the  psalm 
brought  precious  thoughts  of  Chateau  Leurre,  and  the  lit- 
tle wife  who  was  wont  to  sing  it  with  me. " 

"  Ah!"  said  Eustacie,  "  it  was  when  he  sung  those  words 
as  he  was  about  to  sleep  in  the  ruin  of  the  Temple,  that 
first  I — cowering  there  in  terror — knew  him  for  no  Tem- 
plar's ghost,  but  for  a  friend.  That  story  ended  my  worst 
desolation.  That  night  he  became  my  father;  the  next  my 
child  came  to  me!" 

"  My  precious  treasure!  Ah!  what  you  must  have 
undergone,  and  I  all  unknowing,  capable  of  nothing  wiser 
than  going  out  of  my  senses,  and  raging  in  a  fever  because 
I  could  convince  no  one  that  those  were  all  lies  about  your 
being  aught  but  my  true  and  loving  wife.  But  tell  me, 
what  brought  thee  hither  to  be  the  tutelary  patron,  where, 
but  for  the  siege,  I  had  overpassed  thee  on  the  way  to 
Quinet?" 

Then  Eustacie  told  him  how  the  Italian  peddler  had 
stolen  her  letters,  and  attempted  to  poison  her  child — the 
peddler  whom  he  soon  identified  with  that  wizard  who  liad 
talked  to  him  of  "  Esperance,"  until  the  cue  had  evidently 
been  given  by  the  chevalier.  Soon  after  the  duke  had  dis- 
patched a  messenger  to  say  that  the  Chevalier  de  Ribau- 
mont  was  on  the  way  to  demand  his  niece;  and  as  it  was  a 
period  of  peace,  and  the  law  was  decidedly  on  his  side, 
Mme.  de  Quinet  would  be  unable  to  offer  any  resistance. 
She  therefore  had  resolved  to  send  Eustacie  away — not  to 
any  of  the  seaports  whither  the  uncle  would  be  likely  to 
trace  her,  but  absolutely  to  a  place  which  he  vvoidd  have 
passed  through  on  his  journey  into  Guyenne,  The  Mon- 
astery of  Notre-Dame  de  TEsjierance  at  Pont  de  Dronne 
had  been  cruelly  devastated  by  the  Huguenots  in  order  to 
form  a  fortress  to  command  the  passage  of  the  river,  and  a 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  S07 

garrison  haa  been  placed  there,  as  well  as  a  colony  of  silk- 
spiuners,  attracted  by  the  mulberry- trees  of  the  old  abbey 
garden.  These,  however,  having  conceived  some  terror  of 
the  ghosts  of  the  murdered  monks,  had  entreated  for  a  pas- 
tor to  protect  them;  and  Mme.  la  Duchesse  thonght  that 
in  this  capacity  Isaac  Garton,  known  by  one  of  the  many 
aliases  to  which  the  Calvinist  ministers  constantly  resorted, 
might  avoid  susjjicion  for  the  present.  She  took  the  perse- 
cuted fugitives  for  some  stages  in  an  opposite  direction,  in 
her  own  coach,  then  returned  to  face  and  baffle  the  cheva- 
lier, while  her  trusty  steward,  by  a  long  detour,  conducted 
them  to  Pont  de  Dronue,  which  they  reached  the  very 
night  after  the  chevalier  had  returned  through  it  to  Nid- 
de-Merle. 

The  pastor  and  his  daughter  were  placed  under  the  spe- 
cial protection  of  Captain  Falconnet,  and  the  steward  had 
taken  care  that  they  should  be  well  lodged  in  three  rooms 
that  had  once  been  the  abbot^s  apartments.  Their  stay 
had  been  at  first  intended  to  be  short,  but  the  long  Journey 
had  been  so  full  of  suffering  to  Isaac,  and  left  such  serious 
effects,  that  Eustacie  could  not  bear  to  undertake  it  again, 
and  Mme.  de  Quinet  soon  perceived  that  she  was  safer 
there  than  at  the  chateau,  since  strangers  were  seldom  ad- 
mitted to  the  fortress,  and  her  presence  there  attracted  no 
attention.  But  for  Isaac  Gardon's  declining  health,  Eus- 
tacie vould  have  been  much  hapjiier  here  than  at  the  cha- 
teau; the  homely  housewifely  life,  where  all  depended  on 
her,  suited  her;  and,  using  her  lessons  in  domestic  arts  of 
nursing  and  medicine  for  the  benefit  of  her  father's  fiock, 
she  had  found,  to  her  dismay,  that  the  simple  j^eople,  in 
their  veneration,  had  made  her  into  a  sort  of  successor  to 
the  patroness  of  the  convent.  Isaac  had  revived  enough 
for  a  time  to  be  able  to  conduct  the  worshii?  in  the  church, 
and  to  instruct  some  of  his  flock;  but  the  teaching  of  the 
young  had  been  more  and  more  transferred  to  her,  and,  as 
she  ingenuously  said,  had  taught  her  more  than  she  ever 
knew  before.  He  gradually  became  weaker  through  more 
suffering,  and  was  absolutely  inf^apable  of  removal,  when 
an  attack  by  the  Guisards  was  threatened.  Eustacie  might 
have  been  sent  back  to  Quinet;  but  she  would  not  hear  of 
leaving  him;  and  this  first  had  been  a  mere  slight  attack, 
as  if  a  mere  experiment  on  the  strength  of  the  place.  She 
had,  however,  then  had  to  take  the  lead  in  controlling  the 


208  THE    CHAPI.ET    OP    PEAHLS. 

v/omen,  and  teaching  tliem  to  act  as  nurses,  and  to  carry 
out  provisions;  and  she  must  then  have  been  seen  by  some 
one,  who  reported  her  presence  tliere  to  Narcisse — perhaps 
by  the  Italian  peddler.  Indeed  Humfrey,  who  came  in  for 
a  moment  to  receive  his  master's  orders,  report  his  watch, 
and  greet  his  lady,  narrated,  on  the  authority  of  the  lately 
enlisted  men-at-arms,  that  M.  de  Kid-de-Merle  had  prom- 
ised twenty  crowns  to  any  one  who  might  shoot  down  the 
heretics'  little  white  cUaUesse. 

About  six  weeks  had  elapsed  since  the  first  attack  on 
Pont  de  Dronne,  and  in  that  time  Gardon  had  sunk  rapid- 
ly. He  died  as  he  lived,  a  gentle,  patient  man,  not  a  char- 
acteristic Calvinist,  though  his  lot  had  been  thrown  with 
that  party  in  his  perplexed  life  of  truth-seeking  and  disap- 
pointment in  the  asjii rations  and  hojws  of  early  youth.  He 
had  been,  however,  full  of  peace  and  trust  that  he  should 
open  his  eyes  where  the  light  was  clear,  and  no  cloud  on 
either  side  would  mar  his  perception;  and  his  thankfulness 
had  been  great  for  the  blessing  that  his  almost  heaven-sent 
daughter  had  been  to  him  in  his  loneliness,  bereavement, 
and  decay.  Much  as  he  loved  her,  he  did  not  show  himself 
grieved  or  distressed  on  her  account;  but,  as  he  told  her, 
he  took  the  summons  to  leave  her  as  a  sign  that  his  task 
was  done,  and  the  term  of  her  trials  ended.  "  I  trust  as 
fully,"  he  said,  "  that  thou  wilt  soon  be  in  safe  and  loving 
hands,  as  though  I  could  commit  thee  to  them." 

And  so  he  died  in  her  arms,  leaving  her  a  far  fuller 
measure  of  blessing  and  of  love  than  ever  she  had  derived 
from  her  own  father;  and  as  the  enemy's  trumpets  were 
already  sounding  on  the  hills,  she  had  feared  insult  to  his 
remains,  and  had  procured  his  almost  immediate  burial  in 
the  cloister,  bidding  the  assistants  sing,  as  his  farewell,  that 
evening  psalm  which  had  first  brought  soothing  to  her 
hunted  spirit. 

There,  while  nnable,  after  hours  of  weeping,  to  tear  her- 
self from  the  grave  of  her  father  and  protector,  had  she  in 
her  utter  desolation  been  startled  by  the  summons,  not  only 
to  attend  to  the  wounded  stranger,  but  to  lodge  him  in  the 
chancel.  "  Only  this  was  wanting,"  was  the  first  thought 
in  her  desolation,  for  this  had  been  her  own  most  cherished 
resort.  Either  the  hise,  or  fear  of  a  haunted  spot,  or  both, 
had  led  to  the  nailing  up  of  boards  over  the  dividing  screen, 
so  that  the  chancel  was  entirely  concealed  from  the  church; 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  209 

and  no  one  ever  thought  of  setting  foot  there  till  Enstacie, 
whose  Catholic  reverence  was  indestructible,  even  when  she 
was  only  half  sure  that  it  was  not  worse  than  a  foible,  had 
stolen  down  thither,  grieved  at  ils  utter  desolation,  and 
with  fond  and  careful  hands  had  cleansed  it,  and  amended 
the  ruin  so  far  as  she  might.  She  had  no  other  ])lace  where 
she  was  sure  of  being  uninterrupted;  and  here  had  been 
her  onitory,  where  she  daily  prayed,  and  often  came  to  hide 
her  tears  and  i-all}-  her  spirits  through  that  long  attendance 
on  her  fatherly  friend.  It  had  been  a  stolen  pleasure. 
Her  reverent  work  there,  if  once  observed,  would  have  been 
treated  as  rank  idolatry;  and  it  was  with  consternation  as 
well  as  grief  that  she  found,  by  the  captain's  command, 
that  this,  her  sanctuary  and  refuge,  was  to  be  invaded  by 
strange  soldiers!     Little  did  she  think—! 

And  thus  they  sat,  telling  each  other  all,  on  the  step  of 
the  ruined  chapel,  among  the  lights  and  shadows  of  the 
apse.  How  unlike  the  stately  Louvre's  halls  of  statuary 
and  cabinets  of  porcelain,  or  the  Arcadian  groves  of  Mont- 
pipeau!  and  yet  how  little  they  recked  that  they  were  in  a 
beleaguered  fortress,  in  the  midst  of  ruins,  wounded  sull'er- 
ers  all  around,  themselves  in  hourly  jeopardy.  It  was 
enough  that  they  had  one  another.  They  were  so  suj^reme- 
ly  ha})py  that  their  minds  unconsciously  gathered  up  those 
pale  lights  and  dark  fantastic  shades  as  adjuncts  of  their 
bliss. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

LE   BAISER   d'EUSTACIE. 

No  pitying  voice,  no  eye,  affords 
One  tear  to  grace  his  obsequies. 

Gray. 

Golden  sunshine  made  rubies  and  sapphires  of  the  frag- 
ments of  glass  in  the  windows  of  Notre  Dame  de  I'Esper- 
ance,  and  lighted  up  the  brown  face  and  earnest  eyes  of  the 
little  dark  figure,  who,  with  hands  clasped  round  her 
knees,  sat  gazing  as  if  she  could  never  gaze  her  fdl,  upon 
the  sleeping  warrior  beside  whom  she  sat,  bis  clear  straight 
profile  like  a  cameo,  both  in  chiseling  and  in  color,  as  it 
lay  on  the  brown  cloak  where  he  sle2)t  the  profound  sleep 
of  content  and  of  fatigue. 


^10  THE    CHAPLET    OE    fEAELS. 

Neither  slie  nor  Philip  would  have  spoken  or  stirred  to 
break  that  well-earned  rest;  but  sounds  from  without  were 
not  long  in  opening  his  eyes,  and  as  they  met  her  intent 
gaze,  he  smiled  and  said,  "Good-morrow,  sweetheart! 
What,  learning  how  ugly  a  fellow  is  come  back  to  thee?'' 

"  Xo,  indeed!  I  was  trying  to  trace  thine  old  likeness, 
and  then  wondering  how  I  ever  liked  thy  boyish  face  better 
than  the  noble  look  thou  bearest  now !' ' 

"  Ah!  when  I  set  out  to  come  to  thee,  I  was  a  walking 
rainbow;  yet  I  was  coxcomb  enough  to  think  thou  wouldst 
overlook  it." 

"  Show  me  those  cruel  strokes,''  she  said;  "  I  see  one  " 
— and  her  finger  traced  the  same  as  jioor  King  Charles  had 
done — "  but  where  is  the  one  my  wicked  cousin  called  by 
that  frightful  name?'' 

"  Nay,  verily,  that  sweet  name  spared  my  life!  A  little 
less  spite  at  my  j)each  cheek,  and  I  had  been  sped,  and  had 
not  lisped  and  stammered  all  my  days  in  honor  of  le  haiser 
(V Enstacie  1"  and  as  he  pushed  aside  his  long  golden  silk 
mustache  to  show  the  ineffaceable  red  and  purple  scar,  he 
added,  smiling,  "  It  has  waited  long  for  its  right  remedy." 

At  that  moment  the  door  in  the  rood-screen  opened. 
Captain  Falconnet's  one  eye  stared  in  amazement,  and 
from  beneath  his  gray  mustache  thundered  forth  the  word 
"  comment !"  in  accents  fit  to  wake  the  dead. 

Was  this  Esperance,  the  most  irreproachable  of  pastor's 
daughters  and  widows?  "  What,  madame,  so  soon  as  your 
good  father  is  under  ground?  At  least  I  thought  one 
woman  could  be  trusted;  but  it  seems  we  must  see  to  the 
wounded  ourselves." 

She  blushed,  but  stood  her  ground;  and  Berenger  shout- 
ed, "  She  is  my  wife,  sir! — my  wife  whom  I  have  sought  so 
long!" 

"  That  must  be  as  Madame  la  Duchesse  chooses,"  said 
the  captain.  "  She  is  under  her  charge,  and  must  be  sent 
to  her  as  soon  as  this  ca7iaille  is  cleared  off.  To  your  rooms, 
madame ! " 

"I  am  her  husband!"  again  cried  Berenger.  "We 
have  been  married  sixteen  years. ' ' 

"  You  need  not  talk  to  me  of  dowry;  Madame  la  Duch- 
esse will  settle  that,  if  you  are  fool  enough  to  mean  any- 
thing by  it.     No,  no,  mademoiselle,  I've  no  time  for  folly. 


THE    C&APLET    OP    I^EAllLS.  311 

Come  with  me,  sir,  and  see  if  that  be  true  which  they  say 
of  the  rogues  outside.  " 

And  jnittiiig  liis  arm  into  Berenger's,  he  fairly  carried 
him  off,  discoursing  by  the  way  on  feu  M.  TAmiral's  say- 
ing that  "  Overstrictness  in  camp  was  2)eriious,  since  a 
young  saint,  an  old  devil,"  but  warning  him  that  this  was 
prohibited  gear,  as  he  was  responsible  for  the  young  woman 
to  Mme.  la  Duchesse.  Berenger,  who  had  never  made  the 
captain  hear  anything  that  he  did  not  know  before,  looked 
about  for  some  interpreter  whose  voice  might  be  more 
effectual,  but  found  himself  being  conducted  to  the  spiral 
stair  of  the  church  steeple;  and  suddenly  gathering  that 
some  new  feature  in  the  case  had  arisen,  followed  the  old 
man  eagerly  ujd  the  winding  steps  to  the  little  square  of 
leaden  roof  where  the  Quinet  banner  was  planted.  It  com- 
manded a  wide  and  splendid  view,  to  the  I3ay  of  Biscay  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  inland  mountains  on  the  other;  but 
the  warder,  who  already  stood  there,  pointed  silently  to  the 
north,  where,  on  the  road  by  which  Berenger  had  come, 
was  to  be  seen  a  cloud  of  dust,  gilded  by  the  rays  of  the 
rising  sun. 

Who  raised  it  was  a  matter  of  no  doubt;  and  Berenger's 
morning  orisons  were  paid  with  folded  hands,  in  silent 
thanksgiving,  as  he  watched  the  sparkling  of  pikes  and 
gleaming  of  helmets — and  the  white  flag  of  Bourbon  at 
length  became  visible. 

Already  the  enemy  below  were  sending  out  scouts — they 
rode  to  the  top  of  the  hill — then  a  messenger  swam  his 
horse  across  the  river.  In  the  camp  before  the  bridge- 
tower  men  buzzed  out  of  their  tents,  like  ants  whose  hill 
is  disturbed;  horses  were  fastened  to  the  cannon,  tents  were 
struck,  and  it  was  plain  that  the  siege  was  to  be  raised. 

Captain  Falconnet  did  his  ally  the  honor  to  consult  him 
on  the  expedience  of  molesting  the  Guisards  by  a  sally,  and 
trying  to  take  some  of  their  guns;  but  Berenger  merely 
bowed  to  whatever  he  said,  while  he  debated  aloud  the  pros 
and  cons,  and  at  last  decided  that  the  garrison  had  been  too 
much  reduced  for  this,  and  that  M.  le  Due  would  prefer 
finding  them  drawn  up  in  good  order  to  receive  him,  to 
their  going  chasing  and  plundering  disrejoutably  among  the 
enemy — the  duke  being  here  evidently  a  much  greater  per- 
sonage than  the  King  of  Xavarre,  hereditary  Governor  of 
Guyenno  though  he  were.     Indeed,  nothing  was  wanting 


Sis  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

to  the  confusion  of  Berenger's  late  assailants.  In  the 
camp  on  the  north  side  of  the  river,  things  were  done  with 
some  order;  but  that  on  the  other  side  was  absolutely  aban- 
doned, and  crowds  were  making  in  disorder  for  the  ford, 
leaving  everything  behind  them,  that  they  might  not  have 
their  retreat  cut  off.  Would  there  be  a  battle?  Falconnet, 
taking  in  with  his  eye  the  numbers  of  the  succoring  party, 
thouglifc  the  duke  would  allow  the  besiegers  to  depart  un- 
molested, but  remembered  with  a  sigh  that  a  young  king 
had  come  to  meddle  in  their  affairs  I 

However,  it  was  needful  to  go  down  and  marshal  the  men 
for  the  reception  of  the  new-comers,  or  to  join  in  the  fight, 
as  the  case  might  be. 

And  it  was  a  peaceful  entrance  that  took  place  some 
hours  later,  and  was  watched  from  the  windows  of  the 
prior's  rooms,  by  Eustacie,  her  child,  and  Phihp,  whom 
she  had  been  able  to  install  in  her  own  apartments,  which 
liad  been  vacated  by  the  refugee  women  in  haste  to  return 
home,  and  where  he  now  sat  in  Maitre  Garden's  great  straw 
chair,  wrapped  in  his  loose  gown,  and  looking  out  at  the 
northern  gates,  thrown  open  to  receive  the  king  and  duke, 
old  Falconnet  presenting  the  keys  to  the  duke,  the  duke 
bowing  low  as  he  offered  them  to  the  king,  and  the  king 
waving  them  back  to  the  duke  and  the  captain.  Then  they 
saw  Falconnet  presenting  the  tall  auxiliary  who  bad  been 
so  valuable  to  him,  the  joyous  greeting  of  an  old  friend 
bestowed  on  him,  his  gesture  as  he  jiointed  up  to  the  win- 
dow, and  the  king's  upward  look,  as  he  doffed  his  hat  and 
bowed  low,  while  Eustacie  responded  with  the  most  grace- 
ful of  reverences,  such  as  remmded  Philij:)  that  his  little 
sister-in-law  and  tender  nurse  was  in  truth  a  great  court 
lady. 

Presently  berenger  came  upstairs,  bringing  with  him  his 
faithful  foster-brother  Osbert,  who,  though  looking  gaunt 
and  lean,  had  nearly  recovered  his  strength,  and  had  ac- 
companied the  army  in  hopes  of  finding  his  master.  The 
good  fellow  was  full  of  delight  at  the  welcome  of  his  lady, 
and  at  once  bestirred  himself  in  assisting  her  in  rectifying 
the  confusion  in  which  her  guests  had  left  her  ajiartment. 

Matters  had  not  long  been  set  straight  when  steps  were 
heard  on  the  stone  stair,  and,  the  door  opening  wide.  Cap- 
tain Falconnet 's  gruff  voice  was  heard,  "  This  way,  mon- 
seigneur,  this  way,  sire/' 


THE    CITAPLET    Of    TEARLS,  ^13 

This  was  Mnie.  le  Baronue  de  Ribaumont's  first  recep- 
tion. She  was  standing  at  the  dark  walnut  table,  fresh 
starching  and  crimjiing  Berenger's  solitary  ruff,  while 
under  her  merry  superintendence  those  constant  playfel- 
lows, Philip  and  Rayonette,  were  washing,  or  pretending  to 
wash,  radishes  in  a  large  wooden  bowl,  and  Berenger  was 
endeavoring  to  write  his  letter  of  good  tidings,  to  be  sent 
by  special  messenger  to  his  grandfather.  Philip  was  in 
something  very  like  a  Geneva  gown;  Eustacie  wore  her 
prim  white  cap  and  frill,  and  coarse  black  serge  kirtle;  and 
there  was  but  one  chair  besides  that  one  which  Philip  was 
desired  to  retain,  only  two  three-legged  stools  and  a  bench. 

Nevertheless,  Mme.  de  Eibaumont  was  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion; nothing  could  have  been  more  courtly,  graceful,  or 
unembarrassed  than  her  manner  of  receiving  the  king's  gal- 
lant compliments,  and  of  performing  all  the  courtesies 
suited  to  the  hostess  and  queen  of  the  place:  it  was  the  air 
that  would  have  befitted  the  stateliest  castle  hall,  yet  that 
in  its  simjjlicity  and  brightness  still  more  embellished  the 
old  ruinous  convent-cell.  The  king  was  delighted,  he  sat 
down  upon  one  of  the  three-legged  stools,  took  Payonette 
U23on  his  knee,  undertook  to  finish  washing  the  radishes, 
but  eat  nearly  all  he  washed,  declaring  that  they  put  him 
in  mind  of  his  old  hardy  days  on  the  mountains  of  Beam. 
He  insisted  on  hearing  all  Rayonette's  adventure  in  detail; 
and  on  seeing  the  j^earls  and  the  silver  bullet,  "  You  could 
scarcely  have  needed  the  token,  sir,"  said  he  with  a  smile 
to  Berenger;  "  Mademoiselle  had  already  shown  herself  of 
the  true  blood  of  the  bravest  of  knights.'' 

The  tidings  of  the  attack  on  Pont  de  Dronne  had  caused 
the  duke  to  make  a  forced  march  to  its  relief,  in  which  the 
king  had  insisted  on  joining  him;  and  they  now  intended 
to  wait  at  Pont  de  Dronne  till  the  rest  of  the  troops  came 
up,  and  to  continue  their  march  through  Guyenne  to  Nerac, 
the  capital  of  Henry's  county  of  Foix.  The  duke  suggest- 
ed that  if  Philip  were  well  enough  to  move  when  the  army 
proceeded,  the  family  might  then  take  him  to  Quiuet, 
where  the  duchess  would  be  very  desirous  to  see  madame; 
and  therewith  they  took  leave  with  some  good-humored 
mirth  as  to  whether  M.  de  Pibaumont  would  join  them  at 
supper,  or  remain  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  and  whether 
he  were  to  be  regarded  as  a  gay  bridegroom  or  a  husband 
of  sixteen  years'  standing. 


^14  THE    CilATLET    OP    PEAIiLS. 

"  !Nay,"  said  the  king,  "  did  liis  good  Orphcas  know  how 
nearly  his  Eurydice  had  shj^ped  through  his  fingers  again? 
how  Monsienr  de  Quinet  had  caught  the  respectable  Pluto 
yonder  in  the  gray  mustache  actually  arranging  an  escort 
to  send  the  lady  safe  back  to  Quinet  hon,  gre  vial  gre — and 
truly  a  deaf  Pluto  was  worse  than  even  Orpheus  had  en- 
countered!" 

So  laughing,  he  bowed  again  his  compliments;  but  Eus- 
tacie  demanded,  so  soon  as  he  was  gone,  what  he  meant  by 
calling  her  by  such  names.  If  he  thought  it  was  her  Chris- 
tian name,  it  M^as  over-familiar — if  not,  she  liked  it  less. 

"  It  is  only  that  he  last  saw  you  in  the  Infernal  Regions, 
ma  mie,"  said  Berenger;  "  and  I  have  sought  you  ever 
since,  as  Orpheus  sought  Eurydice." 

But  her  learning  did  not  extend  so  far;  and  when  the  ex- 
planation was  made,  she  pouted,  and  owned  that  she  could 
not  bear  to  be  reminded  of  the  most  foolish  and  uncomfort- 
able scene  in  her  life — the  cause  of  all  her  troubles;  and  as 
Berenger  was  telling  her  of  Diane^s  confession  that  her 
being  involved  in  the  pageant  was  part  of  the  plot  for  their 
detention  at  Paris,  Osbert  knocked  at  the  door,  and  entered 
with  a  bundle  in  his  arms,  and  the  air  of  having  done  the 
right  thing. 

"  There,  sir/'  he  said  with  proud  satisfaction,  "  I  have 
been  to  the  camp  across  the  river.  I  heard  tljere  were  good 
stuffs  to  be  had  there  for  nothing,  and  thought  I  would  see 
if  I  could  find  a  coat  for  Monsieur  Philijipe,  for  his  own  is 
a  mere  ruin. " 

This  was  true,  for  Eustacie  had  been  deciding  that  be- 
tween blood  and  rents  it  had  become  a  hopeless  case  for 
renovation;  and  Osbert  joyfully  displayed  a  beautifully-em- 
broidered coat  of  soft  leather,  which  he  had  jjurchased  for 
a  very  small  sum  of  a  plunderer  who  had  been  there  before 
him.  The  camp  had  been  so  hastily  abandoned  that  all 
the  luggage  had  been  left,  and,  like  a  true  valet,  Osbert 
had  not  neglected  the  opportunity  of  rejDlenishing  his  mas- 
ter's wardrobe.  "  And,"  said  he,  "  I  saw  there  one  whom 
Monsieur  le  Baron  knows — Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle. " 

"  Here!"  cried  Eustacie,  startled  for  a  moment,  but  her 
eyes  resting  reassured  on  her  husband. 

"  Madame  need  not  be  alarmed,"  said  Osbert;  "  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron  has  well  re^iaid  him.  Ah!  ah!  there  he  lies, 
a  spectacle  for  all  good  Christians  to  delight  in. " 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  315 

*'  It  was  then  he,  le  scelerat  V  exclaimed  Berenger;  "  I 
had  ah-eady  thought  it  possible/' 

"  Aud  he  fell  by  your  hands!''  cried  Eustacie.  "  That 
is  as  it  should  be." 

"Yes,  madame,"  said  Osbert;  "it  did  my  very  heart 
good  to  see  him  writhing  there  like  a  cruslied  viper.  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron's  bullet  was  mortal,  and  his  own  peoi)Ie 
thought  him  not  wortli  the  moving,  so  there  he  lies  on  the 
ground  bowling  and  cursing.  I  would  have  given  him  the 
coup  (le  (jrace  myself,  but  that  I  thought  Monsieur  le  Baron 
might  have  some  family  matters  to  settle  with  him;  sol 
only  asked  what  he  thouglit  now  of  clapping  guiltless  folk 
into  dungeons,  and  shooting  innocent  children  Uke  spar- 
rows; but  he  grinned  and  cursed  like  a  demon,  and  I  left 
him." 

"  In  any  one's  charge?"  asked  Berenger. 

"  In  the  fiend's,  wdio  is  coming  for  him,"  said  the  de- 
scendant of  the  Norseman.  "  I  only  told  Ilumfrey  that  if 
he  saw  any  one  likely  to  meddle  he  should  tell  them  he  Avas 
reserved  for  you.  Eh!  Monsieur  le  Baron  is  not  going 
now.  Supper  is  about  to  be  served,  and  if  Monsieur  lo 
Baron  would  let  me  array  him  with  this  ruff  of  Spanish 
point,  and  wax  the  ends  of  his  belle  mustache — " 

"It  is  late,"  added  Eustacie,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm;  "  there  may  be  wild  men  about — he  may  be  des2:)er- 
ate!     Oh,  take  care!" 

"  Ma  viie,  do  you  not  think  me  capable  of  guarding  my- 
self from  a  wild-cat  leap  of  a  dying  man?  He  must  not  be 
left  thus.     Remember  he  is  a  I'ibaumont. " 

Vindictiveness  and  revenge  had  their  part  in  the  fire  of 
Eustacie* s  nature.  Many  a  time  had  slie  longed  to  strangle 
Narcisse;  and  she  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  Think  of 
his  attempts  on  that  little  one's  life — think  of  your  wounds 
and  captivity;"  but  she  had  not  spent  three  years  with 
Isaac  Garden  without  learning  that  there  was  sin  in  giving 
way  to  her  keen  hatred;  and  she  forced  herself  to  silence, 
while  Berenger  said,  reading  her  face,  "  Keep  it  back,  sweet 
heart!  Make  it  not  harder  for  me.  I  would  as  soon  go 
near  a  dying  serpent,  but  it  were  barbarity  to  leave  him  as 
Osbert  describes. " 

Berenger  was  too  supremely  and  triumi:)hantly  happy  not 
to  be  full  of  mercy;  and  as  Osbert  guided  him  to  the  hut 
wliere  the  miserable  man  lay,  he  felt  little  but  compassion. 


216  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

The  scene  was  worse  than  he  had  expected;  for  not  on'y 
had  the  attendants  fled,  but  phinderers  had  come  in  thtir 
room,  rent  away  the  coverings  from  the  bed,  and  torn 
the  dying  man  from  it.  Living,  nearly  naked,  covered 
with  blood,  h's  fingers  hacked,  and  ears  torn  for  the  sake, 
of  the  Jewels  on  them,  lay  the  dainty  and  effeminate  tiger- 
fop  of  former  days,  moaning  and  scarcely  sensible.  15 ut 
when  the  mattress  had  been  replaced,  and  Berenger  had 
lifted  him  back  to  it,  laid  a  cloak  over  him,  and  moistened 
his  hps,  he  opened  liis  eyes,  but  only  to  exchiim,  "  You 
there!  as  if  I  had  not  enough  to  mock  me!  Away!''  and 
closed  them  sullenly. 

"  I  would  try  to  relieve  you,  cousin,"  said  Berenger. 

The  answer  was  a  savage  malediction  on  hypocrisy,  and 
the  words,  "  And  my  sister?" 

"  Your  sister  is  in  all  honor  and  purity  at  the  nunnery 
of  Lucon." 

He  laughed  a  horrible,  incredulous  laugh.  "  Safely  dis- 
posed of  ere  you  cajoled  la  petite  with  the  fable  of  your 
faithfulness!  Nothing  like  a  Huguenot  for  lying  to  Ijoth 
sides;"  and  then  ensued  another  burst  of  imprecations  on 
the  delay  that  had  j)revented  him  from  seizing  the  fugi- 
tives— till  Berenger  felt  as  if  the  breath  of  hell  were  uj^on 
him,  and  could  not  hel]i  vindicating  himself,  vain  Ihougli 
he  knew  it  to  be:  "  Narcisse  de  Eibaumont,"  he  said 
gravely,  "  my  word  has  never  been  broken,  and  you  know 
the  keejiing  of  it  has  not  been  without  cost.  On  that  word 
believe  that  Madame  de  Selinville  is  as  si)otless  a  matron  as 
when  she  jieriled  herself  to  save  my  life.  I  never  even 
knew  her  sex  till  I  liad  drawn  her  half  drowned  from  the 
sea,  and  after  that  I  only  saw  her  in  the  jJi'esence  of  Horn 
Oolondjeau  of  Nissard,  in  whose  care  I  left  her." 

Narcisse's  features  contorted  themselves  into  a  frightful 
sneer  as  he  muttered,  "  The  intolerable  fool!  and  that  lie 
should  have  got  the  better  of  me,  that  is  if  it  be  true — and 
I  believe  not  a  word  of  it." 

"  At  least  "  said  Berenger,  "  waste  not  these  last  hours 
on  hating  and  reviling  me,  but  let  this  fellow  of  mine,  who 
is  a  very  fair  surgeon,  bind  your  wound  again." 

"  Eh!"  said  Narcisse,  spitefully,  turning  his  head, 
"  your  own  rogue?  Let  me  see  what  work  he  made  of  U 
baiser  d'A'nstacie.     Pray,  how  does  it  please  her?" 


THE    ClIAPLET    OF    PEAKLS.  217 

*'  She  thanks  Heaven  that  your  chief  care  was  to  s2)oil 
my  face. " 

''I  hear  she  is  a  prime  doctoress;  but  of  course  you 
brought  her  not  hither  lest  she  should  hear  how  you  got  out 
of  our  keeping/' 
"She  knovvsit." 

"Ah!  she  has  been  long  enough  at  court  to  know  one 
must  overlook  that  one's  own  little  matters  may  be  over- 
looked. " 

Berenger  burst  out  at  last,  "  Her  I  will  not  hear  blas- 
phemed: the  next  word  against  her  I  leave  you  to  yourself.  " 
"  That  is  all  I  want/'  said  Narcisse.  "  These  cares  of 
yours  are  only  doweurs  to  your  conceited  heretical  con- 
science, and  a  lengthening  out  of  this  miserable  affair.  You 
would  scoff  at  the  only  real  service  you  could  render  me." 
"And  that  is—" 

"  To  fetch  a  priest.  Ha!  ha!  one  of  your  sort  would 
sooner  hang  me.  You  had  rather  see  me  perish  body  and 
soul  in  this  Huguenot  dog-hole!  What!  do  you  sti^-mmer? 
Bring  a  psalm-singing  heretic  here,  and  I'll  teach  him  and 
you  what  you  may  call  blasphemy." 

"  A  priest  you  shall  have,  cousin,"  said  Berenger  gravely; 
"  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  bring  you  one.  Meanwhile,  strive 
to  bring  yourself  into  a  state  in  wdiich  he  may  benefit  you.'' 
Berenger  was  resolved  that  the  promise  should  be  kept. 
He  saw  that  despair  was  hardening  the  wretched  man's 
heart,  and  that  the  possibility  of  fulfilling  his  Church's 
rites  might  lead  him  to  address  himself  to  repentance;  but 
the  difiiculties  were  great.  Osbert,  the  only  Catholic  at 
hand,  was  disposed  to  contiiiue  his  vengeance  beyond  the 
grave,  and  only  at  his  master's  express  command  would 
even  exercise  his  skill  to  endeavor  to  preserve  life  till  the 
confessor  could  be  brought.  Ordinary  Huguenots  would  re- 
gard the  desire  of  Narcisse  as  a  wicked  superstition,  and 
Berenger  could  only  hurry  back  to  consult  some  of  the  gen- 
tlemen who  might  be  su2)posed  more  unprejudiced. 

As  he  was  crossing  the  quadrangle  at  full  speed,  he  al- 
most ran  against  the  King  of  Navarre,  who  was  pacing  up 
and  down  reading  letters,  and  who  rei^lied  to  his  hasty 
apologies  by  saying  he  looked  as  if  the  fair  Eurydice  had 
slipped  through  his  hands  again  into  the  Inferno. 

'  Not  so,  sire,  but  there  is  one  too  near  those  gates. 


318  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

Nid-de-Morle  is  lying  at  the  point  of  deatli,  calling  for  a 
priest. " 

"  Ventre  Saint  Gris I"  exclaimed  the  king,  "he  is  the 
very  demon  of  the  piece;,  who  carved  your  face,  stole  your 
wife,  and  had  nearly  shot  your  daughter. '^ 

*'  The  more  need  of  his  repentance,  sire,  and  without  a 
priest  ho  will  not  try  to  repent.   I  have  promised  him  one." 

"  A  bold  promise!"  said  Henry.  "  Have  you  thought 
how  our  good  friends  here  are  likely  to  receive  a  priest  of 
Baal  into  the  camp?' 

"  No,  sire,  but  my  best  must  be  done.  I  pray  you  coun- 
sel me. " 

Henry  laughed  at  the  simple  confidence  of  the  request, 
but  replied:  "The  readiest  way  to  obtain  a  priest  will  be 
to  ride  with  a  flag  of  truce  to  the  enemy's  camp — they  are 
at  St.  Esme — and  say  that  Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle  is  a 
prisoner  and  dying,  and  that  I  offer  safe-conduct  to  any 
priest  that  will  come  to  him — though  whether  a  red-hot 
Calvinist  will  respect  my  safe-conduct  or  your  escort  is 
another  matter." 

"  At  least,  sire,  you  sanction  my  making  this  request?" 

"  Have  you  men  enough  to  take  with  you  to  guard  yon 
from  marauders?" 

"  I  have  but  two  servants,  sire,  and  I  have  left  them 
with  the  wounded  man." 

"  Then  I  will  send  with  you  half  a  dozen  Gascons,  who 
have  been  long  enough  at  Paris  with  me  to  have  no  scru- 
ples." 

By  the  time  Berenger  had  exj^lained  matters  to  his  wife 
and  brother,  and  snatched  a  hasty  meal,  a  party  of  gay, 
soldierly  looking  fellows  were  in  the  saddle,  commanded  by 
a  bronzed  sergeant  who  was  perfectly  at  home  in  conduct- 
ing messages  between  contending  parties.  After  a  dark  ride 
of  about  five  miles,  the  camji  at  the  village  of  St.  Esme 
w;^  reached,  and  this  person  recommended  that  he  himself 
should  go  forward  with  a  trumpet,  since  M.  de  Eibaumont 
was  liable  to  be  claimed  as  an  escaped  prisoner.  There  was 
then  a  tedious  delay,  but  at  length  the  soldier  returned, 
and  another  horseman  with  him.  A  priest  who  had  come 
to  the  camp  in  search  of  M.  de  Nid-cle-Merle  was  willing 
to  trust  himself  to  the  King  of  Navarre's  safe-conduct. 

"  Thanks,  sir,"  cried  Berenger;  "  this  is  a  work  of  true 
charity. ' ' 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEA  ELS.  219 

**  I  think  I  know  that  voice,"  said  the  priest. 

*' The  iDfiest  of  Nissard!" 

"  Even  so,  sir.  I  was  seeking  Monsieur  de  Nid-de-Merle, 
and  had  but  just  learned  that  he  had  been  left  behind 
wounded." 

^'  You  came  to  tell  him  of  his  sister?" 

And  as  they  rode  together  the  priest  related  to  Berenger 
that  Mme.  de  Selinville  had  remained  in  the  same  crushed, 
humiliated  mood,  nol  exactly  penitent,  but  too  much  dis- 
appointed and  overpowered  with  shame  to  heed  what  be- 
came of  her  provided  she  were  not  taken  back  to  her  brother 
or  her  ainit.  She  knew  that  repentance  alone  was  left  for 
her,  and  permitted  herself  to  be  taken  to  Lucon,  where 
Mere  Monique  was  the  only  person  whom  she  had  ever  re- 
spected. There  had  no  doubt  been  germs  of  good  within 
her,  but  the  crime  and  intrigue  of  the  siren  court  of 
Catherine  de  Medici  had  choked  them;  and  the  first  sense 
of  better  things  had  been  awakened  by  the  frank  simplicity 
of  the  young  cousin,  while,  nevertheless,  jealousy  and  fam- 
ily tactics  had  led  her  to  aid  in  his  destruction,  only  to  learn 
through  her  remorse  how  much  she  loved  him.  And  when 
in  his  captivity  she  thought  him  in  her  power,  but  found 
him  beyond  her  reach,  unhallowed  as  was  her  passion,  yet 
still  the  contemplation  of  the  virtues  of  one  beloved  could 
not  fail  to  raise  her  standard.  It  was  for  his  truth  and  pur- 
ity that  she  had  loved  him,  even  while  striving  to  degrade 
these  qualities;  and  when  he  came  forth  from  her  ordeal 
unscathed,  her  worship  of  him  might  for  a  time  be  more 
intense,  but  when  the  idol  was  removed,  the  excellence  she 
had  first  learned  to  adore  in  him  might  yet  lead  that  adora- 
tion up  to  the  source  of  all  excellence.  All  she  sought  now 
was  shelter  wherein  to  weep  and  cower  unseen;  but  the 
priest  believed  that  her  tears  would  soon  spring  from  pro- 
found depths  of  penitence  such  as  often  concluded  the  lives 
of  the  gay  ladies  of  France.  Mere  Monique  had  received  her 
tenderly,  and  the  good  priest  had  gone  from  Lucon  to  an- 
nounce her  fate  to  her  aunt  and  brother. 

At  Bellaise  he  had  found  the  abbess  much  scandalized. 
She  had  connived  at  her  niece^s  releasing  the  prisoner,  for 
she  had  acquired  too  much  regard  for  him  to  let  him  perish 
under  Narcisse^s  hands,  and  she  had  allowed  Veronique  to 
personate  Diane  at  the  funeral  mass,  and  also  purposely  de- 
tained Narcisse  to  prevent  the  detection  of  the  escape;  but 


280  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

the  discovery  that  her  niece  had  accompanied  his  flight  had 
filled  her  with  shame  and  fury. 

Pursuit  had  been  made  toward  La  Rochelle,  but  when 
the  neighborhood  of  the  King  of  Navarre  became  known, 
no  doubt  was  entertained  that  the  fugitives  had  joined  him, 
and  Narcisse,  reserving  his  vengeance  for  the  family  honor 
till  he  should  encounter  Berenger,  had  hotly  resumed  the 
intention  of  pouncing  on  Eustacie  at  Pont  de  Dronne, 
which  had  been  decided  on  upon  the  report  of  the  Italian 
spy,  and  only  deferred  by  his  father's  death.  This  once 
done,  Berenger's  own  supjDOsed  infidelity  would  have  forced 
him  to  acquiesce  in  the  annulment  of  the  original  marriage. 

It  had  been  a  horrible  gulf,  and  Berenger  shuddered  as 
one  who  had  barely  struggled  to  the  shore,  and  found  his 
dear  ones  safe,  and  his  enemies  shattered  and  helpless  on 
the  strand.  They  hurried  on  so  as  to  be  in  time.  The 
priest,  a  brave  and  cautious  man,  Avho  had  often  before  car- 
ried the  rites  of  the  Church  to  dying  men  in  the  midst  of 
the  enemy,  was  in  a  secular  dress,  and  when  Berenger  had 
given  the  password,  and  obtained  admittance,  they  sepa- 
rated, and  only  met  again  to  cross  the  bridge.  They  found 
Osbert  and  Humfrey  on  guard,  saying  that  the  sufferer  still 
lingered,  occasionally  in  a  terrible  paroxysm  of  bodily  an- 
guish, but  usually  silent,  except  when  he  upbraided  Osbert 
with  his  master's  breach  of  promise  or  incapacity  to  bring 
a  priest  through  his  Huguenot  friends. 

Such  a  taunt  was  on  his  tongue  when  Pei'e  Colombeau 
entered,  and  checked  the  scoff  by  saying,  "  See,  my  son, 
you  have  met  with  more  pardon  and  mercy  even  on  earth 
than  you  had  imagined  possible." 

There  was  a  strange  spasm  on  Narcisse's  ghastly  face,  as 
though  he  almost  regretted  the  obligation  forced  on  him, 
but  Berenger  scarcely  saw  him  again.  It  was  needful  for 
the  security  of  the  priest  and  the  tranquillity  of  the  relig- 
ious rites  that  he  should  keep  watch  outside,  lest  any  of  the 
more  fanatical  of  the  Huguenots  should  deem  it  their  duty 
to  break  in  on  what  they  had  worked  themselves  into  be- 
lieving offensive  idolatry. 

His  watch  did  not  prove  uncalled  for.  At  different  times 
he  had  to  plead  the  king's  safe-conduct,  and  his  own  honor, 
and  even  to  defend  his  own  Protestantism  by  appealing  to 
his  wounds  and  services.  Hearts  were  not  soft  enough  then 
for  the  cruelly  of  disturbing  a  dying  man  to .  be  9,ny  argu- 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS.  221 

ment  at  all  in  that  fierce  camp;  but  even  there  the  name  of 
Pere  Colombeau  met  with  respect.  The  saintly  priest  had 
protected  too  many  enemies  for  any  one  who  had  heard  of 
him  to  wish  him  ill. 

Nearly  all  night  was  Berenger  thus  forced  to  remain  on 
guard,  that  the  sole  hope  of  Narcisse's  reiDentance  and  sal- 
vation might  not  be  swept  away  by  violence  from  without, 
renewing  bitterness  within.  Not  till  toward  morning  was 
he  called  back.  The  hard,  lingering  death  struggle  had 
spent  itself,  and  slow  convulsive  gasps  showed  that  life  was 
nearly  gone;  but  the  satanic  sneer  had  passed  away,  and  a 
hand  held  out,  a  breathing  like  the  word  "  pardon  " 
seemed  to  be  half  uttered,  and  was  answered  from  the  bot- 
tom of  Berenger 's  kind  and  pitying  heart.  Another  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  Narcisse  de  Eibaumont  Nid -de-Merle  was 
dead.  The  priest  looked  pale,  exhausted,  shocked,  but 
would  reveal  nothing  of  the  frame  of  mind  he  had  shown, 
only  that  if  he  had  been  touched  by  any  saving  penitence, 
it  was  owing  to  his  kinsman. 

Berenger  wished  to  send  the  corpse  to  rest  in  the  family 
vault  at  Bellaise,  where  the  chevalier  had  so  lately  been 
laid;  and  the  priest  undertook  to  send  persons  with  a  flag 
of  truce  to  provide  for  the  transport,  as  well  as  to  announce 
the  death  to  the  sister  and  the  aunt.  Wearied  as  he  was,  he 
would  not  accept  Berenger's  earnest  invitation  to  come  and 
take  rest  and  refreshment  in  the  prior's  rooms,  but  took 
leave  of  him  at  the  further  side  of  the  fortress,  with  almost 
reverent  blessings,  as  to  one  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  ;  and  Berenger,  with  infinite  peacefulness  in  his 
heart,  went  home  in  the  silence  of  the  Sunday  morning, 
and  lay  sleeping  away  his  long  fatigue  through  the  chief 
part  of  the  day,  wlide  Pastor  Merlin  was  preaching  an  elo- 
quent sermon  upon  his  good  brother  Isaac  Gardon,  and  Eus- 
tacie  shed  filial  tears,  more  of  tenderness  than  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE    GALLIMAFRE. 

Speats  and  raxes,  speats  and  raxes,  speats  and  raxes. 

Lord  Somerville's  billet. 

Never  wont  to  let  the  grass  grow  under  his  feet,  Henry 
of  Navarre  was  impatient  of  awaiting  his  troops  at  Pont  de 


222  THE    OHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

Dronue,  and  proposed  to  hasten  on  to  Qiiinet,  as  a  conven- 
ient center  for  collecting  the  neighboring  gentry  for  confer- 
ence. Thus,  early  on  Monday,  a  party  of  about  thirty  set 
forth  on  horseback,  including  the  Ribaumonts,  Rayonette 
being  perched  by  turns  in  front  of  her  father  or  mother, 
and  the  Duke  de  Quinet  declaring  that  he  should  do  his 
best  to  divide  the  journey  into  stages  not  too  long  for 
Philip,  since  he  was  anxious  to  give  his  mother  plenty  of 
time  to  make  preparations  for  her  royal  guest. 

He  had,  however,  little  reckoned  on  the  young  king's 
promptitude.  The  first  courier  he  had  dispatched  was  over- 
taken at  a  cabaret  only  five  leagues  from  Pont  de  Dronne, 
baiting  his  horse,  as  he  said;  the  second  was  found  on  the 
road  with  a  lame  horse  and  the  halt  for  the  night  was 
made  so  far  on  the  way  that  only  half  a  day's  journey  re- 
mained beyond  it.  The  last  stage  had  been  ridden,  much 
to  the' duke's  discontent,  for  it  brought  them  to  a  mere 
village  inn,  with  scarcely  any  accommodation.  The  only 
tolerable  bed  was  resigned  by  the  king  to  the  use  of  Philip, 
whose  looks  spoke  the  exhaustion  of  which  his  tongue  scorned 
to  complain.  So  painful  and  feverish  a  night  ensued  that 
Eustacie  was  anxious  that  he  should  not  move  until  the 
duke  should,  as  he  promised,  send  a  mule  litter  back  for 
him;  but  this  jDroposalhe  resented;  and  in  the  height  of  his 
constitutional  obstinacy,  appeared  booted  and  spurred  at 
the  first  signal  to  mount. 

Nor  could  Eustacie,  as  she  soon  perceived,  annoy  him 
more  than  by  showing  her  solicitude  for  him,  or  attracting 
to  him  the  notice  of  the  other  cavaliers.  As  the  only  lady 
of  the  party,  she  received  a  great  deal  of  attention,  with 
some  of  which  she  would  gladly  have  dispensed.  Whether 
it  were  the  king's  habit  of  calling  her  "  la  Belle  Eurydice," 
or  because,  as  she  said,  he  was  "  si  laid  "  and  reminded  her 
of  old  unhappy  days  of  constraint,  she  did  not  like  him  and 
had  almost  displeased  her  husband  and  his  brother  by  say- 
ing so.  She  would  gladly  have  avoided  the  gallantries  of 
this  day's  ride  by  remaining  with  Philip  at  the  inn;  but  not 
only  was  this  impossible,  but  the  peculiar  ill-temper  of  con- 
cealed suffering  made  Philip  drive  her  off  whenever  she  ap- 
proached him  with  inquiries;  so  that  she  was  forced  to  leave 
him  to  his  brother  and  Osbert,  and  ride  forward  between 
the  king  and  the  duke,  the  last  of  whom  she  really  liked. 

Welcome  was  the  sight  of  the  grand  old  chateau,  its 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  223 

mighty  wings  of  chestnut  forest  stretching  up  the  hills  on 
either  side,  and  the  stately  avenue  extending  before  it;  but 
just  then  the  last  courier  was  discovered,  reeling  in  his  sad- 
dle under  the  effects  of  repeated  toasts  in  honor  of  Navarre 
and  Quinet. 

"  We  are  fairly  sped/'  said  the  duke  to  Eustacie,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  between  amusement  and  dismay. 

"  Madame  la  Duchesse  is  equal  to  any  gallimafre/'  said 
Eustacie,  demurely;  at  which  the  duke  laughed  heartily, 
saying,  "  It  is  not  for  the  family  credit  I  fear,  but  for  my 
own!" 

"  Nay,  triumjDh  makes  everything  be  forgiven.'^ 

"  But  not  forgotten,''  laughed  the  duke.  "  But,  alJons. 
Now  for  the  onset.  We  are  already  seen.  The  forces  mus- 
ter at  the  gate-way. " 

By  the  time  the  cavalcade  were  at  the  great  paved  archway 
into  the  court,  the  duchess  stood  at  the  great  door,  a  grand- 
son on  either  si:le,  and  a  great  burly  fresh-colored  gentle- 
man behind  her. 

M.  de  Quinet  was  off  his  horse  in  a  second,  his  head  bare, 
his  hand  on  the  royal  rein,  and  signing  to  his  eldest  son  to 
hold  the  stirrup;  but,  before  the  boy  had  comprehended, 
Henry  had  sprung  dow^n,  and  Avas  kissing  the  old  lady's 
hand,  saying,  "  Pardon,  madame!  I  trust  to  your  goodness 
for  excusing  this  surj^rise  from  an  old  friend's  son." 

Neither  seeing  nor  caring  for  king  or  prince,  the  stranger 
gentleman  at  the  same  moment  pounced  upon  Eustacie  and 
her  little  girl,  crying  aloud  in  English,  "  Here  she  is!  My 
dear,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Give  her  to  me,  jjoor  Beren- 
ger's  little  darling.  Ah!  she  does  not  understand.  Where's 
Merrycourt?" 

Just  then  there  was  another  English  exclamation,  "'  My 
father!  Father!  dear  father!"  and  Philip,  flinging  him- 
self from  the  saddle,  fell  almost  prone  on  that  broad  breast, 
sobbing  convulsively,  while  the  eyes  that,  as  he  truly, 
boasted  had  never  wasted  a  tear  on  his  enemies,  were 
streaming  so  fast  that  his  father's  welcome  savored  of  re- 
proof: "  What's  all  this?    Before  these  French  too." 

"  Take  care,  father,"  cried  Berenger,  leaping  from  his 
horse;  "  he  has  an  ugly  wound  just  where  you  are  holding 
him. " 

"  Wounded!  ray  poor  boy.     Look  up." 

*'  Where  is  your  room,  sir?"  said  Berenger,  seeing  his 


224:  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

hosts  entirely  occupied  with  the  king;  and  at  once  hfting 
the  almost  helpless  Philip  like  a  little  child  in  his  strong 
arms,  he  followed  Sir  Marmaduke,  who,  as  if  walking  in 
liis  sleep,  led  the  way  nj)  the  great  stone  staircase  that  led 
outside  the  house  to  the  upper  chambers. 

After  a  short  interval,  the  duchess,  in  the  jjlenitude  of 
her  glory  at  entertaining  her  dear  queen's  son,  came  nj)  €7i 
(jrande  teniic,  leading  the  king  by  the  hand,  the  duke 
walking  backward  in  front,  and  his  two  sons  each  holding 
a  big  wax  candle  on  either  side. 

"  Here,  sire,  is  the  chamber  where  the  excellent  queen 
did  me  the  honor  to  repose  herself. " 

Tlie  duke  swung  open  the  door  of  the  state  bed-chamber. 
There,  on  the  velvet-hung  bed  sat  h  gros  Chevalier  An- 
glais, whom  she  had  herself  installed  there  on  Saturday. 
Both  his  hands  were  held  fast  in  those  of  a  youth  who  lay 
beside  him,  deadly  pale,  and  half  undressed,  with  the  little 
Eibaumont  attending  to  a  wound  in  his  side,  while  her  child 
was  held  in  the  arms  of  a  very  tall,  bald-headed  young 
man,  who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  The  whole  group 
of  interlojicrs  looked  perfectly  glorified  witli  happiness  and 
delight.  Even  tlie  w^ounded  youth,  ghastly  and  suffering 
as  he  was,  lay  stroking  the  big  Englishman's  hand  with  a 
languid,  caressing  air  of  content,  almost  like  that  of  a  dog 
who  has  found  his  master.  None  of  them  were  the  least 
embarrassed,  they  evidently  thought  this  a  visit  of  inquiry 
after  the  patient;  and  while  the  duchess  stood  confounded, 
and  the  duke  much  inclined  to  laugh,  Eustacie  turned 
eagerly,  exclaiming,  "  Ah!  madame,  I  am  glad  you  are 
come.  May  I  beg  Mademoiselle  Perrot  for  some  of  your 
cooling  mallow  salve.  Riding  has  sadly  inflamed  the 
wound." 

"  Piding — with  such  a  wound!  Are  we  all  crazed?" 
said  Mme.  la  Ducliesse,  absolutely  bewildered  out  of  her 
dignified  equanimity;  and  her  son,  seeing  her  for  once  at  a 
loss,  came  to  her  rescue:  "  His  grace  will  condescend  to 
the  Andromeda  Chamber,  madame.  He  kindly  gave  up 
his  bed  to  our  young  friend  last  night,  when  there  was  less 
choice  than  you  can  give  him." 

They  all  moved  off'  again;  and,  before  Eustacie  was  ready 
for  the  mallows,  Mme.  de  Quinet,  for  whom  the  very  name 
of  a  wound  had  an  attraction,  returned  with  two  hand- 
maidens bearing  bandages  and  medicaments,  having  by 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAKLS.  225 

this  time  come  to  the  perception  that  the  wounded  youth 
was  the  son  of  the  big  Englishman  who  had  arrived  with 
young  Mericoiu'  in  search  of  her  h'ttle  protegee,  and  that 
the  tall  man  was  the  husband  so  long  supposed  to  be  dead. 
She  was  curious  to  see  her  pupiPs  surgery,  of  which  she 
highly  approved,  though  she  had  no  words  to  express  her 
indignation  at  the  folly  of  traveling  so  soon.  Indeed,  noth- 
ing but  the  j^assiveness  of  fatigue  could  have  made  her  des- 
potism endurable  to  Philip;  but  he  cared  for  nothing  so 
long  as  he  could  see  his  father's  face,  and  hear  his  voice — 
the  full  tones  that  his  ear  had  yearned  for  among  the  sharp 
expression  of  the  French  accent  —  and  Sir  Marmaduke 
seemed  to  find  the  same  perfect  satisfaction  in  the  sight  of 
him;  indeed,  all  were  so  rejoiced  to  be  together,  that  they 
scarcely  exerted  themselves  to  ask  questions.  When  Beren- 
ger  would  have  made  some  explanation.  Sir  Marmaduke 
only  said:  "  Tell  me  not  yet,  my  dear  boy.  I  see  it  is  all 
right,  and  my  head  will  hold  no  more  yet  but  that  I  have 
you  and  the  lad  again!  Thank  God  for  it!  Never  mind 
how.'' 

When,  however,  with  some  difficulty  they  got  him  away 
from  Philip's  bedside  down  to  supper,  the  king  came  and 
made  him  high  compliments  upon  the  distinguished  bravery 
of  his  sons,  and  Mericour  interpreted,  till  Sir  Marmaduke 
— though  answering  that  of  course  the  lads  must  do  their 
duty,  and  he  was  only  glad  to  hear  they  had  done  it — be- 
came more  and  more  radiant  and  proud,  as  he  began  to 
gather  what  their  trials,  and  what  their  steadfastness  and 
courage  had  been.  His  goodly  face,  beaming  with  honest 
gladness,  was,  as  Henry  told  the  duchess,  an  absolute  orna- 
ment to  her  table. 

Unable,  however,  to  converse  with  any  one  but  Berenger 
and  Mericour,  and  pining  all  the  time  to  get  back  to  his 
son,  the  lengthy  and  ceremonious  meal  was  a  weary  pen- 
ance to  him;  and  so  soon  as  his  release  was  possible,  he 
made  his  way  upstairs  again,  where  he  found  Philip  much 
refreshed  by  a  long  sleep,  and  only  afraid  that  he  should 
find  the  sight  of  his  father  merely  a  dream;  then,  when 
satisfied  on  that  head,  eager  to  hear  of  all  at  home — "  the 
sisters,  the  dogs,  my  mother,  and  my  little  brother?"  as 
he  arranged  his  inquiry. 

"  Ha!  you  heard  of  that,  did  you?" 

*'  Yes,"  said  Philip,  "the  villains  gave  us  letters  once 

8-Sa  half. 


236  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

— only  once — and  those  what  they  thought  would  sting  ns 
most.  Oh  father,  how  could  you  all  think  such  foal  shame 
of  Berry?'' 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  Phil;  I  never  did,  nor  Aunt  Cecily, 
not  for  a  moment;  but  my  lord  is  not  the  man  he  was,  and 
those  foes  of  yours  must  have  set  abroad  vile  reports  for  the 
very  purpose  of  deceiving  us.  And  then  this  child  must 
needs  be  born,  poor  little  rogue.  I  shall  be  able  to  take  to 
him  now  all  is  right  again;  but  by  8t.  George,  they  have 
tormented  me  so  about  him,  and  wanted  me  to  take  him 
as  a  providence  to  join  the  estates  together,  instead  of  you 
and  I3erry,  that  I  never  thought  to  care  so  little  for  a  child 
of  my  own.'' 

"  We  drank  his  health  at  Nid-de-Merle,  and  were  not  a 
little  comforted  that  you  would  have  him  in  our  place. " 

"  I'd  rather —  Well,  it  skills  not  talking  of  it,  but  it 
just  shows  tiie  way  of  women.  After  all  the  outcry  Dame 
Annora  had  made  about  her  poor  son,  and  no  one  loving 
him  or  heeding  his  interest  save  herself,  no  sooner  was  this 
little  fellow  born  than  she  had  no  thought  for  any  but  he, 
and  would  fain  have  had  her  father  settle  all  his  lands  on 
him,  protesting  that  if  Berry  lived,  his  French  lands  were 
enough  for  him.  Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind,  is  the  way 
with  women. " 

Womanhood  was  always  made  accountable  for  all  Lady 
Thistlewood's  follies,  and  Philip  acquiesced,  asking  further, 
"  Nay,  but  how  came  you  hither,  father?  Was  it  to  seek 
lis  or  Eustacie?" 

"  Both,  both,  my  lad.  One  morning  just  after  Christ- 
mas, I  rid  over  to  Combe  with  my  dame  behind  me,  and 
found  the  house  in  commotion  with  a  letter  that  young 
Sidney,  Berry's  friend,  had  just  sent  down  by  s|)ecial  mes- 
senger. It  had  been  writ  more  than  a  year,  but,  bless  you, 
these  poor  foreigners  have  such  crooked  ears  and  tongues 
that  they"  don't  know  what  to  make  of  a  plain  man's 
name,  and  the  only  wonder  was  that  it  ever  came  at  all.  It 
seems  the  duke  here  had  to  get  it  sent  over  by  some  of  the 
secret  agents  the  French  Protestants  have  in  England,  and 
what  do  they  but  send  it  to  one  of  the  Vivians  in  Cornwall; 
and  it  was  handed  about  among  them  for  how  long  I  can 
not  say,  till  there  was  a  chance  of  sending  it  up  to  my  Lord 
of  Warwick;  and  he,  being  able  to  make  nothing  of  it, 
shows  it  to  his  nephew,  Philip  Sidney,  who,  perceiving  at 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  227 

once  whom  it  concerned,  sends  it  straight  to  my  lord,  witli 
a  handsome  letter  hoping  that  it  brought  good  tidings. 
There  then  it  was,  and  so  we  first  knew  that  the  poor  lady 
had  not  been  lost  in  the  sack  of  the  town,  as  Master  Hobbs 
told  us.  She  told  us  how  this  duchess  had  taken  her  under 
her  protection,  but  that  her  enemies  were  seeking  her,  and 
had  even  attempted  her  child's  life.'" 

"  The  ruffians!  even  so."" 

*'  And  she  said  her  old  pastor  was  failing  in  health,  and 
prayed  that  some  trusty  person  might  be  sent  to  bring 
home  at  least  the  child  to  safety  with  her  kindred.  There 
was  a  letter  to  the  same  effect,  praising  her  highly  too, 
from  the  duchess,  saying  that  she  would  do  her  best  to 
guard  her,  but  the  kinsmen  had  the  law  on  their  side,  and 
she  would  be  safer  in  England.  Well,  this  was  fair  good 
news,  save  that  we  marveled  the  more  how  you  and  Berry 
should  have  missed  her;  but  the  matter  now  was  who  was 
the  trusty  person  who  should  go.  Claude  Merrycourt  was 
ready — " 

"  How  came  he  there?"  demanded  Philip.  "  I  thought 
he  had  gone,  or  been  sent  off  with  Lady  Burnett's  sons. " 

"  Why,  so  he  had;  but  there's  more  to  say  on  that  score. 
He  was  so  much  in  favor  at  Combe,  that  my  lord  would  not 
be  denied  his  spending  the  holiday  times  there;  and,  besides, 
last  summer  we  had  a  mighty  coil.  The  Horners  of  Mells 
made  me  a  rare  good  oifer  for  Lucy  for  their  eldest  son, 
chiefly  because  they  wanted  a  wife  for  him  of  my  Lady 
Walwyn's  and  Mistress  Cecily's  breeding;  and  my  wife  was 
all  for  accepting  it,  having  by  that  time  given  uj?  all  hope 
of  poor  Berry.  But  I  would  have  no  commands  laid  on  my 
girl,  seeing  that  I  had  pledged  my  word  not  to  cross  her  in 
the  matter,  and  she  hung  about  my  neck  and  prayed  me  so 
meekly  to  leave  her  un wedded,  that  I  must  have  been  made 
of  stoiie  not  to  yield  to  her.  So  I  told  Mr.  Horner  that 
his  son  Jack  must  wait  for  little  Nancy  if  he  wanted  a 
daughter  of  mine — and  the  stripling  is  young  enough.  I 
believe  he  will.  But  women's  tongues  are  not  easy  to  stop, 
and  Lucy  was  worn  so  thin,  and  had  tears  in  her  eyes — 
that  she  thought  I  never  marked — whenever  she  was  fretted 
or  flouted,  and  at  last  I  took  her  back  to  stay  at  Combe  for 
Aunt  Cecily  to  cheer  up  a  bit;  and — well,  well,  to  get  rid 
of  the  matter  and  silence  Dame  Nan,  I  consented  to  a  be- 
trothal between  her  and  Merrycourt — since  she  vowed  ehe 


238  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS, 

would  rather  wait  single  for  him  than  wed  any  one  elsd. 
He  is  a  good  youth,  and  is  working  himself  to  a  shadow  be- 
tween studying  and  teaching;  but  as  to  sending  him  alone 
to  bring  Berry ^s  wife  back,  he  was  overyoung  for  that.  No 
one  could  do  that  fitly  save  myself,  and  I  only  wish  I  had 
gone  three  years  ago,  to  keep  you  two  foolish  lads  out  of 
harm's  way.  But  they  set  up  an  unheard-of  hubbub,  and 
made  sure  I  should  lose  myself.  What  are  you  laughing 
at,  you  Jacksauce?" 

"  To  think  of  you  starting,  father,  with  not  a  word  of 
French,  and  never  from  home  further  than  once  to  Lon- 
don. " 

"  Ah!  you  thought  to  come  the  traveled  gentleman  over 
me,  but  I've  been  even  with  you.  I  made  Dame  Nan 
teach  me  a  few  words,  but  I  never  could  remember  any- 
thing but  that  '  mercy  '  is  '  thank  ye.'  However,  Merry- 
court  offered  to  come  with  me,  and  my  lord  wished  it. 
Moreover,  I  thought  he  might  aid  in  tracing  you  out.  So 
I  saw  my  lord  alone,  and  he  passed  his  word  to  me  that, 
come  wdiat  would,  no  one  should  persuade  him  to  alter  his 
will  to  do  wrong  to  Berenger's  daughter;  and  so  soon  as 
Master  Hobbs  could  get  the  "  Throstle  "  unladen,  and  fitted 
out  again,  we  sailed  for  Bordeaux,  and  there  he  is  waiting 
for  us,  while  Claude  and  I  bought  horses  and  hired  a  guide, 
and  made  our  way  here  on  Saturday,  where  we  were  very 
welcome;  and  the  duchess  said  she  would  but  wait  till  she 
could  learn  there  were  no  bands  of  the  enemy  at  hand,  to 
go  down  with  me  herself  to  the  place  where  she  had  sent 
the  lady.  A  right  worthy  dame  is  this  same  duchess,  and 
a  stately;  and  that  young  king,  as  they  call  him,  seems 
hard  to  please,  for  he  told  Berry  that  his  wife's  courtliness 
and  ease  in  his  reception  were  far  above  aught  that  he  found 
here.  What  he  means  is  past  a  plain  man,  for  as  to  Berry's 
wife  she  is  handy,  and  notable  enough,  and  'tis  well  he 
loves  her  so  well;  but  what  a  little  brown  thing  it  is,  for  a 
man  to  have  gone  through  such  risks  for.  Nothing  to  look 
at  beside  his  mother!" 

"  If  you  could  only  see  Madame  de  Selinville!"  sighed 
Pliihp — then.  "  Ah!  sir,  you  would  know  the  worth  of 
Eustacie  had  you  seen  her  in  yonder  town. " 

"  Very  like!"  said  Sir  Marmaduke;  "but  after  all  our 
fears  at  home  of  a  fine  court  madame,  it  takes  one  aback 
to  see  a  little  homely  brown   thing,  clad  like  a  serving 


THE  CHAPLET  OP  PEARLS.  289 

wench.  Well,  Dame  Nan  will  not  be  displeased,  she 
always  said  the  girl  would  grow  up  no  beauty,  and  'tis  the 
way  of  women  to  brook  none  fairer  than  themselves!  Bet- 
ter so.  •  She  is  a  good  Protestant,  and  has  done  rarely  by 
you,  Phil.'' 

"  Truly,  I  might  be  glad  'twas  no  conrt  madame  that 
Btood  by  me  when  Berry  was  called  back  to  the  fight:  and 
for  the  little  one,  ^tis  the  loveliest  and  bravest  little  maid  I 
ever  saw.     Have  they  told  you  of  the  marigolds,  father?" 

"  Why,  the  king  told  the  whole  to  the  duchess,  so  Berry 
said,  and  then  drank  the  health  of  the  daughter  of  the 
bra'vest  of  knights;  and  Berry  held  lier  np  in  his  arms  to 
bow  again,  and  drink  to  them  from  his  glass.  Berry 
looked  a  jjroud  man,  I  can  tell  you,  and  a  comely,  spite  of 
his  baldness;  and  'tis  worth  having  come  here  to  see  how 
much  you  lads  are  thought  of — though  to  be  sure  'tis  not 
often  the  poor  creatures  here  see  so  much  of  an  English- 
man as  we  have  made  of  Berry. " 

Philip  could  not  but  laugh.  "  'Tis  scarce  for  that  that 
they  value  him,  sir. " 

"  Say  you  so?  Nay,  methinks  his  English  heart  and 
yours  did  them  good  service.  Indeed,  the  king  himself 
told  me  as  much  by  the  mouth  of  Merrycourt.  May  that 
youngster's  head  only  not  be  turned!  Why,  they  set  him 
at  table  above  Berenger,  and  above  half  the  king's  gentle- 
men. Even  the  duchess  makes  as  if  he  were  one  of  her 
highest  guests — he  a  poor  Oxford  scholar,  doubting  if  he 
can  get  his  bread  by  the  law,  and  flouted  as  though  he  were 
not  good  enough  for  my  daughter.  'Tis  the  world  topsy- 
turvy, sure  enough!  And  that  this  true  love  that  Berenger 
has  run  through  fire  and  water  after,  like  a  knight  in  a 
peddler's  ballad,  should  turn  out  a  mere  little,  brown,  com- 
mon-looking woman  after  all,  not  one  whit  equal  to 
Lucy!" 

Sn-  Marmaduke  modified  his  disappointment  a  little  that 
night,  when  he  had  talked  Philip  into  a  state  of  feverish- 
ness  and  suffering  that  became  worse  under  Mme.  de 
Quinet's  reproofs  and  remedies,  and  only  yielded  to  Eus- 
tacie's  long  and  patient  soothing.  He  then  could  almost 
have  owned  that  it  was  well  she  was  not  like  his  own 
cherished  type  of  womanhood,  and  the  next  day  he  changed 
his  opinion  still  more,  even  as  to  her  appearance. 

There  was  a  great  gathering  of  favorers  of  the  Huguenot 


230  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

cause  on  that  day;  gentlemen  came  from  all  parts  to  con- 
sult with  Henry  of  Navarre,  and  Mme.  de  Quinet  had  too 
much  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  to  allow  Mme.  de  Ei- 
baumont  to  appear  at  the  ensuing  banquet  in  her  shabby, 
rusty  black  serge,  and  tight  white  borderless  cap.  The 
whole  wardrobe  of  the  poor  young  Duchess  de  Quinet  was 
placed  at  her  service,  and,  though  with  the  tliought  of  her 
adopted  father  on  her  heart,  she  refused  gay  colors,  yet 
when,  her  toilet  complete,  she  sailed  into  Philip's  room,  he 
almost  sprung  up  in  delight,  and  Sir  Marmaduke  rose  and 
ceremoniously  bowed  as  to  a  stranger,  and  was  only  unde- 
ceived when  little  Rayonette  ran  joyously  to  Philip,  asking 
if  3Iam((7i  was  not  si  helle,  si  belle. 

The  effects  of  her  unrestful  nights  had  now  passed  away, 
and  left  her  magnificent  eyes  in  their  full  brilliancy  and 
arch  fire;  the  blooming  glow  was  restored  to  her  cheek; 
and  though  neck,  brow  and  hands  were  browner  than  in 
the  shelter  of  convent  or  palace,  she  was  far  more  near  ab- 
solute beauty  than  in  former  days,  both  from  countenance 
and  from  age.  Her  little  proud  head  was  clustered  with 
glossy  locks  of  jet,  still  short,  but  curling  round  her  brow 
and  neck  whose  warm  brunette  tints  contrasted  well  with 
the  delicate,  stiffened  cobweb  of  her  exquisite  standing 
ruff,  which  was  gathered  into  a  white  satin  bodice,  with  a 
skirt  of  the  same  material,  over  which  swept  a  rich  black 
brocade  train  open  in  front,  with  an  open  body  and  half- 
sleeves  with  falhng  lace,  and  the  hands,  delicate  and 
shapely  as  ever,  if  indeed  a  little  tanned,  held  fan  and 
handkerchief  with  as  much  courtly  grace  as  though  they 
had  never  stirred  broth  nor  wrung  out  linen.  Sir  Marma- 
duke really  feared  he  had  the  court  madame  on  his  hands 
after  all,  but  he  forgot  all  about  his  fears,  as  she  stood 
laughing  and  talking,  and  by  her  pretty  airs  and  gestures, 
smiles  and  signs,  making  him  enter  into  her  mirth  with 
Philip,  almost  as  well  as  if  she  had  not  spoken  French. 

Even  Berenger  started,  when  he  came  up  after  the  coun- 
sel to  fetch  her  to  the  banqueting-hall.  She  was  more  en- 
tirely the  Eustacie  of  the  Louvre  than  he  had  ever  realized 
seeing  her,  and  yet  so  much  more;  and  when  the  duchess 
beheld  the  sensation  she  produced  among  the  7Kiblesse,  it 
was  with  self -congratulation  in  having  kept  her  in  retire- 
ment while  it  was  still  not  known  that  she  was  not  a  widow. 
The  King  of  Navarre  had  already  found  her  the  only  lady 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  231 

present  possessed  of  the  peculiar  aroma  of  hfgh-breeding 
which  belonged  to  the  society  in  which  both  he  and  she  had 
been  most  at  home,  and  his  attentions  were  more  than  she 
liked  from  one  whose  epithet  of  Eurydice  she  had  never 
quite  forgiven;  at  least,  that  was  the  only  reason  she  could 
assign  for  her  distaste,  but  the  duchess  understood  her  bet- 
ter than  did  Berenger,  nay,  better  than  she  did  herself,  and 
kept  her  under  the  maternal  wings  of  double  form  and 
ceremony. 

Berenger,  meanwhile,  was  in  great  favor.  A  command 
had  been  ottered  him  by  the  King  of  Navarre,  who  had 
promised  that  if  he  would  cast  his  lot  with  the  Huguenots, 
his  claims  on  all  the  lands  of  Ribaumont  should  be  enforced 
on  the  King  of  France  when  terms  were  wrung  from  him, 
and  Narcisse's  death  removed  all  valid  obstacle  to  their 
recognition;  but  Berenger  felt  himself  bound  by  all  home 
duties  to  return  to  England,  nor  had  he  clear  convictions  as 
to  the  absolute  right  of  the  war  in  which  he  had  almost  un- 
consciously drawn  his  sword.  Under  the  Tudors  the  divine 
rights  of  kings  was  strongly  believed  in,  and  it  was  with 
many  genuine  misgivings  that  the  cause  of  Protestant  re- 
volt was  favored  by  Elizabeth  and  her  ministers;  and 
Berenger,  bred  up  in  a  strong  sense  of  loyalty,  as  well  as 
in  doctrines  that,  as  he  had  received  them,  savored  as  little 
of  Calvinism  as  of  Romanism,  was  not  ready  to  espouse  the 
Huguenot  cause  with  all  his  heart;  and  as  he  could  by  no 
means  have  fought  on  the  side  of  King  Henry  HI.  or  of  the 
Guises,  felt  thankful  that  the  knot  could  be  cut  by  renounc- 
ing France  altogether,  according  to  the  arrangement  which 
had  been  defeated  by  the  chevalier's  own  super-subtle 
machinations. 

At  the  conference  of  gentlemen  held  at  Quinet,  he  had 
been  startled  by  hearing  the  name  of  tbe  Sieur  de  Bellaise, 
and  had  identified  him  with  a  grave,  thin,  noble-looking 
man,  with  an  air  of  high-bred  and  patient  poverty.  He 
was  a  Catholic  but  no  Guisard,  and  supported  the  middle 
l)olicy  of  the  Montmorency  party,  so  far  as  he  possessed  any 
influence;  but  his  was  only  the  weight  of  personal  char- 
acter, for  he  had  merely  a  small  property  that  had  descended 
to  him  through  his  grandmother,  the  wife  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Bellaise  who  had  pined  to  death  in  the  dungeon  at 
Loches,  under  Louis  XL  Here,  then,  Berenger  saw  the 
right  means  of  ridding  himself  and  liis  family  of  the 


232  THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS. 

burden  that  his  father  had  mourned  over,  and  it  only  re- 
mained to  convince  Eustacie.  Her  first  feehng  when  she 
heard  of  the  king's  otTer,  was  that  at  last  her  ardent  wish 
would  be  gratified,  she  should  see  her  husband  at  the  head 
of  her  vassals,  and  hear  the  war-cry  motto,  "  A  moi  lUhau- 
mont.  "  Then  came  the  old  representation  that  the  Ven- 
dean  peasants  were  faithful  Catholics  who  could  hardly  be 
asked  to  fight  on  the  Calvinist  side.  The  old  spirit  rose 
in  a  flush,  a  pout,  a  half-uttered  query  why  those  creatures 
should  be  allowed  their  opinions.  Mme.  la  Baroniie  was 
resuming  her  haughty  temperament  in  the  noUesse  atmos- 
phere; but  in  the  midst  came  the  remembrance  of  having 
made  that  very  speech  in  her  Temple  ruin — of  the  grave 
sad  look  of  rebuke  and  shake  of  the  head  with  whicli  the 
good  old  minister  had  received  it — and  how  she  had  sulked 
at  him  till  forced  to  throw  herself  on  him  to  liinder  her 
separation  from  her  child.  !She  burst  into  tears,  and  as 
Berenger,  in  some  distress,  began  to  assure  her  that  he 
would  and  could  do  nothing  without  her  consent,  she  strug- 
gled to  recover  voice  to  say,  ''  No!  no!  I  only  grieve  that 
I  am  still  as  wicked  as  ever,  after  these  three  years  with 
that  saint,  my  dear  father.  Do  as  you  will,  only  pardon 
me,  the  little  fierce  one!" 

And  then,  when  she  was  made  to  perceive  that  her  hus- 
band would  have  to  fight  alone,  and  could  not  take  her  with 
him  to  share  his  triumphs  or  bind  his  wounds,  at  least  not 
except  by  bringing  her  in  contact  with  Henry  of  Navarre 
and  that  atmosphere  of  the  old  court,  she  acquiesced  the 
more  readily.  She  was  a  woman  who  could  feel  but  not 
reason;  and,  though  she  loved  Nid-de-Merle,  and  had  been 
proud  of  it,  Berenger's  description  of  the  ill-used  Sieur  de 
Bellaise  had  the  more  effect  on  her,  because  she  well  i-e- 
membered  the  traditions  whispered  among  the  peasants  with 
whom  her  childhood  had  been  passed,  that  the  village 
crones  declared  nothing  had  gone  well  with  the  place  since 
the  Bellaises  had  been  expelled,  with  a  piteous  tale  of  the 
broken-hearted  lady,  that  she  had  never  till  now  under- 
stood. 

For  the  flagrant  injustice  perpetrated  on  her  uncle  and 
cousin  in  the  settlement  on  Berenger  and  herself  she  cared 
little,  thinking  they  had  pretty  well  repaid  themselves,  and 
not  entering  into  Berenger's  deeper  view,  that  this  injustice 
was  the  more  to  be  deplored  as  the  occasion  of  their  guiltj 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  233 

but  she  had  uo  doubt  or  question  as  to  the  grand  stroke  oi' 
yielding  up  her  claims  on  the  estate  of  the  Sieur  de  Bellaise. 
The  generosity  of  the  deed  struck  her  imagination,  and  if 
Berenger  would  not  lead  her  vassals  to  battle,  she  did  not 
want  them.  There  was  no  difficulty  with  Sir  Marmaduke; 
he  only  vowed  that  he  liked  Berenger's  wife  all  the  better 
for  being  free  of  so  many  yards  of  French  dirt  tacked  to  her 
petticoat,  and  Philip  hated  tbe  remembrance  of  those  red 
sugar-loaf  pinnacles  far  too  much  not  to  wish  his  brother 
to  be  rid  of  them. 

M.  de  Bellaise,  when  once  he  understood  that  restitution 
was  intended,  astonished  8ir  Marmaduke  by  launching  him- 
self on  Berenger's  neck  with  tears  of  joy;  and  Henry  of 
Navarre,  though  sorry  to  lose  such  a  partisan  as  the  young 
baron,  allowed  that  the  Bellaise  claims,  being  those  of  a 
Catholic,  might  serve  to  keep  out  some  far  more  danger- 
ous person  whom  the  Court  party  might  select  in  opposition 
to  an  outlaw  and  a  Protestant  like  M.  de.  Bibaumont. 

'*  So  you  leave  us,^'  he  said  in  private  to  Berenger,^  to 
whom  he  had  taken  a  great  liking.  "  I  can  not  blame 
you  for  not  casting  your  lot  into  such  a  witch's  caldron  as 
this  poor  country.  My  friends  think  I  dallied  at  court  like 
Rinaldo  in  Armida's  garden.  They  do  not  understand  that 
when  one  hears  the  name  of  Bourbon  one  does  not  willingly 
make  war  with  the  Crown,  still  less  that  the  good  Calvin 
left  a  doctrine  bitter  to  the  taste,  and  tough  of  digestion. 
May  be,  since  I  have  been  forced  to  add  my  spoon  to  stir 
the  caldron,  it  may  clear  itself;  if  so,  you  will  remember 
that  you  have  rights  in  Normandy  and  Picardy." 

Tliis  was  the  royal  farewell.  Henry  and  his  suite  de- 
parted the  next  morning,  but  the  duchess  insisted  on  retain- 
mg  her  other  guests  till  Philijj's  cure  should  be  complete. 
Meantime,  Claude  de  Mericour  had  written  to  his  brother 
and  arranged  a  meeting  with  him.  He  was  now  no  boy 
who  could  be  coerced,  but  a  staid,  self-reliant,  scholarly 
person,  with  a  sword  by  his  side  and  an  English  passport  to 
secure  him,  and  his  brother  did  not  regard  him  as  quite  the 
disgrace  to  his  family  he  had  at  first  deemed  him.  He 
was  at  least  no  rebel;  and  though  the  law  seemed  to  French 
eyes  infinitely  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  scion  of  nobility, 
Btill  it  was  something  not  to  have  him  a  heretic  preacher, 
and  to  be  able  at  least  to  speak  of  him  as  betrothed  to  the 
sister    of    the    Baron    do    Bibaumont.       Moreover,    that 


234  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEAELS. 

Huguenot  kinsman,  whose  extreme  Calvinist  opinions  had 
so  nearly  revolted  Mericour,  had  died  and  left  him  all  his 
means,  as  the  only  Protestant  in  the  family;  and  the 
amount,  when  Claude  arranged  matters  with  his  brother, 
proved  to  be  sufficient  to  bear  him  through  his  expenses 
handsomely  as  a  student,  with  the  hope  of  marriage  so  soon 
as  he  should  have  kept  his  terms  *at  the  Temple. 

And  thus  the  good  ship  "  Throstle  "  bore  home  the  whole 
iia])py  party  to  Weymouth,  and  good  Sir  Marmaduke  had 
an  unceasing  cause  for  exultation  in  the  brilliant  success  of 
his  mission  to  France. 

After  all,  the  first  to  revisit  that  country  was  no  other 
than  the  once  home-sick  Philip.  He  wearied  of  inaction, 
and  thought  his  county  neighbors  ineffably  dull  and  lub- 
berly, while  they  blamed  him  for  being  a  fine,  Frenchified 
gentleman,  even  while  finding  no  fault  with  their  oLi  friend 
Berenger,  or  that  notable  little,  lively,  housewifely  lady  his 
wife,  whose  broken  English  and  bright  simplicity  charmed 
every  one.  Sorely  Philip  needed  something  to  do;  he 
might  have  been  a  gentleman  pensioner,  but  he  had  no 
notion,  he  said,  of  loitering  after  a  lady  to  boat  and  hunt, 
when  such  a  king  as  Henry  of  Navarre  was  in  the  field; 
and  he  agreed  with  Eustacie  in  her  estimate  of  the  court, 
that  it  was  horribly  dull,  and  wanting  in  all  the  sparkle 
and  brilliancy  that  even  he  had  perceived  at  Paris. 

Eustacie  gladly  retreated  to  housewifery  at  Combe 
Walwyn,  but  a  strenuous  endeavor  on  Lady  Thistlewood's 
part  to  marry  her  step-son  to  a  Dorset  knight's  daughter, 
together  with  the  tidings  of  tlie  renewed  war  in  France, 
spurred  Philip  into  wringing  permission  from  his  father  to 
join  the  King  of  Navarre  as  a  volunteer. 

Years  went  by,  and  Philip  was  only  heard  of  in  occasional 
letters,  accompanied  by  presents  to  his  sisters  and  to  little 
Eayonette,  and  telling  of  marches,  exploits,  and  battles — 
how  he  had  taken  a  standard  of  the  League  at  Coutras,  and 
how  he  had  led  a  charge  of  pikemen  at  Ivry,  for  which  he 
received  the  thanks  of  Henry  IV.  But,  though  so  near 
home,  he  did  not  set  foot  on  English  ground  till  the  throne 
of  France  was  secured  to  the  hero  of  Navarre,  and  he  had 
marched  into  Paris  in  guise  very  unlike  the  manner  he  had 
left  it. 

Then  home  he  came,  a  bronzed  gallant-looking  warrior, 
the  pride  of  the  county,  ready  for  repose  ^^nd  for  aid  to  his 


THE    CHAPLET    OF    PEARLS.  235 

father  in  his  hearty  old  age,  and  bearing  with  him  a  press- 
ing invitation  from  the  king  to  M.  and  Mme.  de  Ribau- 
mont  to  resume  their  rank  at  court.  Berenger,  who  had 
for  many  years  only  known  himself  as  Lord  Walwyn,  shook 
his  head.  ''  I  thank  the  king,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am  better 
content  to  breed  up  my  children  as  wholly  English.  He 
bade  me  return  when  he  should  have  stirred  the  witch's 
caldron  into  clearness.  Alas!  all  he  has  done  is  to  make 
brilliant  colors  shine  on  the  vapor  thereof.  Nay,  Phil;  I 
know  your  ardent  love  for  him,  and  marvel  not  at  it.  Be- 
fore he  joined  the  Catholic  Church  I  trusted  that  he  might 
have  given  truth  to  the  one  party,  and  unity  to  the  other; 
but  when  the  clergy  accepted  him  with  all  his  private  vices, 
and  he  surrendered  unconditionally,  I  lost  hope.  I  fear 
there  is  worse  in  store.  Queen  Catherine  did  her  most 
fatal  work  of  evil  when  she  corrupted  Henry  of  Navarre." 

"  If  you  say  more.  Berry,  I  shall  be  ready  to  challenge 
you!''  said  Philip.  "  When  you  saw  him,  you  little  knew 
the  true  king  of  souls  that  he  is,  his  greatness,  or  his  love 
for  his  country." 

"  Nay,  I  believe  it;  but  tell  me,  Philip,  did  you  not  liint 
that  you  had  been  amoug  former  friends — at  Lucon,  you 
said,  I  think?" 

Philip's  face  changed.  "Yes;  it  was  for  that  I  wished 
to  see  you  alone.  My  troop  had  to  occupy  the  place.  I 
had  to  visit  the  convent  to  arrange  for  quartering  my  men 
so  as  least  to  scandalize  the  sisters.  The  abbess  came  to 
speak  to  me.  I  knew  her  only  by  her  eyes!  She  is 
changed — aged,  wan,  thin  with  their  discipline  and  fasts — 
but  she  once  or  twice  smiled  as  she  alone  in  old  times  could 
smile.  The  place  rings  with  her  devotion,  her  charity,  her 
penances,  and  truly  her  face  is  " — he  could  hardly  speak — 
"  like  that  of  a  saint.  She  knew  me  at  once,  asked  for  you 
all,  and  bade  me  tell  you  that  now  she  prays  for  you  and 
yours  continually,  and  blesses  you  for  having  opened  to  her 
the  way  of  peace.  Ah!  Berry,  I  always  told  you  she  had 
not  her  equal." 

"  Think  you  so  even  now?" 

"  How  should  I  not,  when  I  have  seen  what  repentance 
has  made  of  her?'' 

"So!"  said  Berenger,  rather  sorrowfully,  "  our  great 
Protestant  champion  has  still  left  liis  heart  behind  him  in  a 
French  convent." 


236  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PEARLS. 

"  Stay,  Berenger!  do  you  remember  yonder  villain  con- 
jurer's prediction  that  I  should  wed  none  but  a  lady  whose 
cognizance  was  the  leopard?'' 

"  And  you  seem  bent  on  accomplisliing  it/'  said  Beren- 
ger. 

"  Nay!  but  in  another  manner — that  which  you  devised 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  Berenger,  I  knew  the  sorcerer 
spake  sooth  when  that  little  moonbeam  child  of  yours 
brought  me  the  flowers  from  the  rampart.  I  had  speech 
with  her  last  night.  She  has  all  the  fair  loveliness  that  be- 
longs of  right  to  your  mother's  grandchild,  but  her  eye, 
blue  as  it  is,  has  the  Eibaumont  sj^irit;  the  turn  of  the  head 
and  the  smile  are  what  I  loved  long  ago  in  yonder  lady, 
and,  above  all,  she  is  her  own  sweet  self.  Berenger,  give 
me  your  daughter  Berengere,  and  I  ask  no  portion  with 
her  but  the  silver  bullet.  Keep  the  pearls  for  your  son's 
heir-loom;  all  I  ask  with  Eayouette  is  the  silver  bullet.'" 


THE  END. 


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Adam  Bede.    By  George  Eliot. 
iCsop's  Fables. 

Alhambra,  The.  By  Washington 
Irving. 

Alice  Lorraine.  By  R.  D.  Black- 
more. 

All  Sorts  and  Conditions  of  Men. 
By  Besant  and  Rice. 

Andersen's  Fairy  Tales. 

Arabian     Nights    Enter- 
tainments. 
Armadale.    By  AVilkie  Collins. 

Armorel  of  Lyonesse.    By  Walter 

Besant. 
Auld  Licht  Idylls.    By  James  M. 

Barrie. 
Aunt  Diana.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Autobiography      of     Benjamin 

Franklin. 
Averil.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Bacon's  Essays.    By  Francis  Bacon, 

Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial.    By 

Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Barnaby     Budge.       By     Charles 

DiclcGns 
Berber,  The.    By  W  S.  Mayo. 

Betrothed,  The.      By  Allossandro 

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Bondman,  The.    By  Hall  Caine. 


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Burg'omaster's  Wife,    The 

George  Ebers. 
Cast  up  by  the  Sea.    By  Sir  Samuel 

Baker. 
Caxtons,  The.    By  Bulwer-Lytton. 

Charles  Auchester.    By  E.  Berger. 

Charles    O'Malley.     By    Charles 

Lever. 
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gina  Maria  Roche. 
Children  of  Gibeon.      By  Walter 

Besant. 
Child's  History  of  England.    By 

Charles  Dickens. 
Christmas    Stories.      By   Charles 

Dickens. 
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Charles  Reade. 
Confessions  of  an  Opium-Eater. 

By  Thomas  De  Quincey. 
Consuelo.    By  George  Sand 

Corinne.    By  Madame  De  StaeL 

Countess     of    Budolstadt.      ny 

George  Sand. 

Cousin  Pons.     By  Honore  de  Bal- 
zac. 

Cranford.    By  Mrs.  Gaskell. 

Crown  of  Wild  Olive,  The.    By 

John  Ruskin. 
Daniel  Deronda.    By  George  Eliot. 

Daughter  of  an  Empress,  The. 

By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 


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Daughter  of  Hetli,  A.     By  Wm. 

Black. 
David    Copperfield.     By   Charles 

Dickens. 
Deemster,  The.    By  Hall  Catne. 

Deerslayer,  The.  By  James  Feni- 
more  Cooper. 

Dombey  &  Son.  By  Charles  Dick- 
ens. 

Donal  Grant.  By  George  Mac- 
don  aid. 

Donald  Ross  of  Heimra.  By 
William  Black. 

Donovan.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

Dream  Life.    By  Ik.  Marvel. 
East  Lynne.    By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood. 
Egoist,  The.    By  George  Meredith. 


An. 


By 


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George  Ebers. 

Eiffht  Years  Wandering  in  Cey- 
lon.   By  Sir  Saumel  Baker. 

Emerson's    Essays.      By    Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson. 

Emperor,  The.    By  George  Ebers. 

Essays  of  Elia.    By  Charles  Lamb. 
Esther.    By  Eosa  N.  Carey. 

Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd. 

By  Thos.  Hardy. 
Felix  Holt.    By  George  Eliot. 

Fifteen  Decisive  Battles  of  the 

World.    By  E.  S.  Creasy. 
File  No.  113.    By  Emile  Gaboriau. 

First  Violin.     By  Jessie  Fothergill. 

For  Faith  and    Freedom.      By 

Walter  Besant. 
Frederick  the  Great,   and  His 

Court.    By  Louisa  Muhlbach. 
French  Revolution.     By  Thomas 

Carlyle. 
From  the  Earth  to  the  Hoon. 

By  Jules  Verne. 


Goethe  and  Schiller.     By  Louise. 

Bluhlbach, 
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Great  Expectations.     By  Charles 

Dickens. 
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Great  Treason,  A.  By  Mary  Hop- 
pus. 

Green  Mountain  Boys,  The.  By 
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Grimm's  Household  Tales.  By 
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Gulliver's  Travels.  By  Dean 
Swift. 

Handy  Andy.    By  Samuel  Lover. 

Hardy  Norseman,  A.     By  Edna 

Lyall. 
Harold.    By  Bulwer-Lytton. 

Harry  Lorrequer.  By  Charles 
Lever. 

Heir  of  Redclyffe.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Yonge. 

Henry  Esmond.  By  William  M. 
Thackeray. 

Her  Dearest  Foe.  By  Mrs.  Alex- 
ander. 

Heriot's  Choice.  By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Heroes  and  Hero  Worship.  By 
Thomas  Carlyle. 

History  of  Pendennis.  By  Will- 
iam M.  Tliackeraj'. 

House  of  the  Seven  Gables.  By 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

How  to  be  Happy  Though  Mar° 
ried. 

Hunchback  of  Notre  Dime.  By 
Victor  Hugo. 

Hypatia.    By  Charles  Kingsley. 

Idle  Thoughts  of  an  Idle  Fellow. 

By  Jerome  K.  Jerome. 
In  Far    Lochaber.     By    William 
Black. 


"  I  would  prefer  to  have  one  comfortable  room  well  stocked  with  books  to  oU 
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John  Bright. 


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In  the  Golden  Days.     By  Edna 

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Maxwell  Grey. 
It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 

By  Charles  Reade. 
Ivanhoe.    By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Jack's  Courtship.     By  W.   Clark 

Russell. 
Jane  Eyre.    By  Charlotte  Broute. 

John  Halifax,  Gentleman.     By 

Miss  Muloch. 
Kenilworth.    By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


By  R.  D.  Black- 
By  Jessie  Fother- 


Kit  and  Kitty. 

more. 
Kith  and  Kin. 

gill. 
Knickerbocker's  History  of  New 

York.    By  Wasliiugtou  Irviug. 
Knight  Errant.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

Ij'Abbe  Constantin.    By  Ludovic- 

Halevy. 
Lamplighter,  The.     By  Maria  S. 

Ciinunins. 
Last  Days  of  Pompeii.    By  Bul- 

wer-Lytton. 
Last  of  the  Barons.     By  Bulwer- 

Lyttou. 
Last  of  the  Mohicans.    By  James 

Fenimore  Cooper. 
Light  of  Asia,  The.    By  Sir  Edwin 

Arnold. 
Little  Dorrit.  By  Charles  Dickens. 

Lorna  Doone.    By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 

Louise  de  la  Valliere.  By  Alex- 
andre Dumas. 

Lover  or  Friend  P  By  Rosa  N. 
Carey. 

Lucile.    By  Owen  Meredith. 

Maid  of  Sker.  By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 

Man  and  Wife.    By  Wilkie  Collins. 

Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  By  Alex- 
andre Dumas. 


Martin  Chuzzlewit.     By  Charles 

Dickens. 
Mary  St.  John.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Master  of  Ballantrae,  The.     By 

R.  L.  Stevenson. 
Master  of  the  Ceremonies,  The. 

By  G.  M.  Fenn. 
Masterman  Ready.     By  Captain 

Marryat. 
Merle's  Crusade.     By    Rosa    N. 

Carey. 
Micah  Clarke.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Michael  Strogoff.    By  Jules  Verne. 
Middlemarch.    By  George  Eliot. 

Midshipman  Easy.      By  Captain 

Blarryat. 
Mill   on  the  Floss.      By    George 

Eliot. 
Molly  Bawn.    By  The  Duchess. 

Moonstone,  The.  By  Wilkie  Col- 
lins. 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse.  By 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Mysterious  Island,  The.  By 
Jides  Verne. 

Natural  Lavr  in  the  Spiritual 
World.    By  Henry  Drummond. 

Nellie's  Memories.  By  Rosa  N. 
Carey. 

Newcomes,  The.  By  William  M. 
Thackeray. 

Nicholas  Nickleby.     By   Charles 

Dickens. 
No  Name.    By  Wilkie  Colhns. 

Not  Like  Other  Girls.     By  Rosa 

N.  Carey. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop.     By  Charles 

Dickens.  _ 

Old  Ma'm'selle's  Secret.     By  ii,. 

Marlitt. 
Old    Myddelton's    Money.      By 

Mary  Cecil  Hay. 
Oliver  Twist.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

Only  the  Governess.    By  Rosa  N. 

Carey. 


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Auerbach. 
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Our  Mutual  Friend.     By  Charles 

Dickens. 
Pair  of  Blue  Eyes,  A.    By  Thomas 

Hardy. 
Past  and  Present.     By    Thomas 

Carlyle. 
Pathfinder,  The.    By  James  Feni- 

more  Cooper. 
Pere  Goriot.    By  Honore  de  Balzac. 

Phantom    Rickshaw,    The.     By 

Rudyard  Kipling. 
Phra,  the  Phoenician.    By  Edwin 

L.  Arnold. 
Picciola.    By  X.  B.  Saintine. 

Pickwick  Papers.  By  Charles 
Dickens. 

Pilg-rim's  Progress.  ByJohnBun- 
yan. 

Pilot,  The.  By  James  Fenimore 
Cooper. 

Pioneers,  The.  Bj^  James  Fenimore 
Cooper. 

Prairie,  The.  By  James  Fenimore 
Cooper. 

Pride  and  Prejudice.  By  Jane 
Austen. 

Prime  Minister,  The.  By  Anthony 
Trollope. 

Princess  of  Thule,  A.  By  Wm. 
Black. 

Professor,  The.  By  Charlotte 
Bronte. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.  By 
Charles  Reade. 

Gueen  Hortense.  By  Louisa  Muhl- 
bach. 

Queenie's  Whim.  By  Rosa  N.  Ca- 
rey. 

Balph  the  Heir.  By  Anthony 
Trollope. 

Red  Rover.  By  James  Fenimore 
Cooper. 

Reproach  of  Annesley.  By  Max- 
well Grey. 

Reveries  of  a  Bachelor.  By  Ik. 
Marvel. 

Bhoda  Fleming.  By  George  Mere- 
dith. 


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Rienzi.    By  Bulwer-Lytton. 

Robinson  Crusoe.     By  Daniel  De- 
foe. 
Rob  Roy.    By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man. 

By  Octave  Feuillet. 
Romance  of  Two  Worlds.     By 

Marie  Corelli. 
Romola.    By  George  Ehot. 

Rory  O'More.    By  Samuel  Lover. 

Sartor  Resartus.  By  Thomas  Car- 
lyle. 

Scarlet  Letter,  The.  By  Nathan- 
iel Hawthorne. 

Scottish  Chiefs.    By  Jane  Porter. 

Search  for  Basil  Lyndhurst.    By 

Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Second  Wife,  The.    By  E.  Marlitt. 

Self-Help.    By  Samuel  SmUes. 

Sense  and  Sensibility.  By  Jane 
Austen. 

Sesame  and  Lilies.  By  John  Bus- 
kin. 

Shadow  of  the  Sword.  By  Robert 
Buchanan. 

Shirley.    By  Charlotte  Bronte. 

Silas  Marner.    By  George  Eliot. 

Silence  of  Dean  Maitland.  By 
Maxwell  Grey. 

Sketch-Book,  The.  By  Washing- 
ton Irving. 

Social  Departure  A.  By  Sara 
Jeanuette  Duncan. 

Soldiers  Three,  etc.  By  Rudyard 
Kjpliug. 

Springhaven.   By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 

SpjN    The.      By    James    Fenimore 

Cooper. 
St.  Katharine's  by  the  Tower. 

By  Walter  Besant. 


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sity,  prosperity,  at  home,  abroad,  hiaUlt,  sifhucss-ynoa  or  ill  report,  the  same 
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Story  of  an  African  Farm.    By 

Olive  Schreiuer. 
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Jean  Rudolph  Wyss. 
Tale  of  Two  Cities.    By  Charles 

Dickeus. 
Talisman,    The.      By    Sir  Walter 

Scott. 
Tartarin   of  Tarascon.     By  Al- 

phonse  Daudet. 
Tempest   Tossed.     By    Theodore 

Til  ton. 
Ten  Years  Later.    By   Alexandre 

Dumas. 
Terrible   Temptation,     A.      By 

Charles  Reade. 
Thaddeus  of  Warsaw.     By  Jane 

Porter. 
Thelma.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Three  Q-uardsmen.    By  Alexandre 

Dunias. 
Three  Men  in  a  Boat.    By  Jerome 

K.  Jerome. 
Tom    Brown    at    Oxford.      By 

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Tom  Brown's  School  Days.     By 

Thomas  Hughes. 
Tom  Burke  of  "  Ours."  By  Charles 

Lever. 
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Days,  A.    By  Jules  Verne. 
Treasure  Island.    By  Robert  Louis 

Stevenson. 
Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  Un- 
der the  Sea.    By  Jules  Verne. 
Twenty  Years  After.    By  Alexan- 
dre Dumas. 
Twice  Told  Tales.     By  Nathaniel 

Hawthorne. 
Two   Admirals.     By  James  Feni- 

more  Cooper. 
Two    Chiefs    of    Dunboy.      By 

James  A.  Froude. 
Two   on   a   Tower.     By    Thomas 

Hardy. 
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XTarda.  By  George  Ebers. 

Uncle  Max.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  By  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe. 

Undine  and  Other  Tales.  By  D« 
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Vanity  Fair.  By  William  M.  Thack- 
eray. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield.  By  Oliver 
Goldsmith. 

Villette.    By  Charlotte  Bronte. 

Virginians,  The.  By  William  M. 
Thackeray. 

Vicomte  de  Bragelonne.  By  Alex- 
andre Dumas. 

Vivian  Grey.  By  Benjamin  Dis- 
raeli. 

Water  Witch,  The.  By  James 
Fenimore  Cooper. 

Waverly.    By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

WeeWifle.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Westward  Ho  I    By  Charles  Kings- 
ley. 
We  Two.    By  Eckia  Lyall. 

What's  Mine's  Mine,  By  George 
Macdonald. 

When  a  Man's  Single.  By  J.  M. 
Barrie. 

White  Company,  The.  By  A.  Co- 
nan  Doyle. 

Wide,  Wide  World.  By  Susan 
Warner. 

Widow  Lerouge,  The.  By  Emile 
Gaboriau. 

Wilhelm  Meister's  A]»prentice- 
ship.     By  Goethe  (Cailyle). 

Wing-and-Wing.  By  James  Feni- 
more Cooper. 

Woman  in  White,  The.  By  Wilkio 
CoUins. 

Won  by  Waiting.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

Wooing  O't.    By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

World  Went  Very  Well  Then, 

The.    By  Walter  Besant. 
Wormwood.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor,   The. 

By  W.  Clark  Russell. 
Zenobia.    By  William  Ware. 


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from  the  principal  characters;  thej 
teach  without  preaciiing,  are  of  lively 
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11- 


Esther.    By  Rosa  Nouchette  Caret. 

lustrated.      Price,  $1.00. 
A  World  of  Girls  :  The  Story  of  a  School. 

By  L.  T.  Meadk.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
The  Heir  of  Redclyffe.     By  Charlotte  M.  YoNGt\     Illustrated 

Price,  $1.00. 
The  Story  of  a  Short  Life.    By  Juliana  Horatio  Eving.     Illua 

trated.     Price,  $1.00. 
A  Sweet  Girl  Graduate.     By  I..  T.  Meade.      lUustim.^d.     Price 

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Our  Bessie.  By  Rosa  Is'^ouchette Caret.  Illustrated.  Pi\ce,  $1.00 
Six  to  Sixteen:  A  Story  for  Girls.    By  Juliana  Horatio  Ewi.xg. 

Illustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
The  Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest.     By  Charlotte  M.  Yojtv^  E.     K 

lustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
GiaHnetta :  A  Girl's  Story  of  Herself.     By  Rosa  Mdlhoi  l  dND. 

Illustrated.     Price,  $1  00. 
Jan  of  the  Windmill :  A  Story  of  the  Plains.     By  Juliana  Ho- 
ratio EwiNG.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1  00. 
Averil.     By  Rosa  Noucuette  Caret.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
Alice  in  Wonderland  and  Alice  Through  a  Looking-Glass.    Two 

volumes  in  one.    By  Lewis  Carroll.   Illustrated.   Price,  $1.00. 
Merle's   Crusade.       By  Rosa   Nouchette  Caret.       Illustrated. 

Price,  $1.00. 
Girl  Neighbors ;  or,  The  Old  Fashion  and  the  New.      By  Sarah 

Tttler.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
Polly:  A  New  Fashioned  Girl.     By  L.  T.  Meade.     Illustrated 

Price,  $1.00. 
Aunt  Diana.     By  Rosa  N.  Caret.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
The  Water  Babies :  A  Fairy  Tale  for  a  Land-Baby.  By  Charles 

Kingslet.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
At  the   Back  of  the  North  Wind.      By  George  Macdonald. 

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The  Chaplet  of  Pearls  ;  or,  The  White  and  Black  Ribaumont. 

By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge.     Illustrated.     Price,  $1.00. 
The  Days  of  Bruce :  A  Story  of  Scottish  History.    By  Gracb 

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THE  ALGER  SERIES  for  BOYS 

Uniform  with  This   Volurae. 

This  series  affords  wholesome  reading  for  boys  and  girls,  and  all  th« 
volumes  are  extremely  interesting.— CV/icni»ia<i  Commercial-Gazette. 

JOE'S  LUCK  ;  or,  A  Brave  Boy's  Adventurer,  in  California.     By 

Horatio  Alger.  Jr. 
JULIAN  MORTIMER  ;  or,  A  Brave  Boy's  Struggles  for  Home 

and  Fortune.    By  Harry  Castlemon. 
4tDRIFT  IN  THE  WILDS ;  or,  The  Adventures  of  Two  Ship. 

wrecked  Boys.    By  Edward  S.  Ellts. 
FRANK  FOWLER,  THE  CASH  BOY.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 

GUY  HARRIS,  THE  RUNAWAY.    By  Harry  Castlemon. 

THE  SLATE-PICKER  ;  A  Story  of  a  Boy's  Life  in  the  Goal 

Mines.    Bv  Harry  Prentice. 
TOM  TEMPLE'S  CAREER.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 

TOM,  THE  READY  ;  or,  Up  from  the  Lowest.  By  Randolph  Hilu 

THE  CASTAWAYS  ;  or.  On  the  Florida  Reefs.    By  James  Otis. 

CAPTAIN  KIDD'S  GOLD.    The  True  Story  of  an  Adventurous 

Sailor  Boy.    By  James  P''ranklin  Fitts. 
TOM  THATCHER*S  FORTUNE.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 

LOST  IN  THE  CANON.  The  Story  of  Sam  Willett's  Adventures 

on  the  Great  Colorado  of  the  West.    By  Alfred  R.  Calhoun. 
A  YOUNG  HERO  ;  or,  Fighting  to  Win.    By  Edward  S.  Ellis. 

THE  ERRAND  BOY ;  or,  How  Phil  Brent  Won  Success.     By 

Horatio  alger,  Jr. 
THE  ISLAND  TREASURE ;  or,  Harry  Darrel's  Fortune.    By 

Frank  H.  Converse. 
A  RUNAWAY  BRIG ;  or,  An  Accidental  Cruise.    By  James  Otis. 

A  JAUNT  THROUGH  JAVA.    The  Story  of  a  Journey  to  the 

Sacred  Mountain  by  Two  American  Boys.    By  E.  S.  Ellis. 
CAPTURED  BY  APES  ;  or,  How  Philip  Garland  Became  King 

of  Apeland.    By  Harry  Prentice. 
TOM  THE  BOOT-BLACK ;  or,  The  Road  to  Success^    By  Horatio 

ROY  GILBERT'S  SEARCH.    A  Tale  of  the  Great  Lakes.    Bf 

William  P.  Chipman. 
THE  TREASURE-FINDERS.    A  Boy's  Adventures  in  Nicara- 

uga.     Bv  Jamks  Otis. 
BUDD  BOYD'S  TRIUMPH ;  or.  The  Boy  Firm  of  Fox  Island. 

By  William  P.  Chipman. 
TONY,  THE  HERO ;   or,  A  Brave  Boy's  Adventures  with  a 

Tramp.    Bv  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 
CAPTURED  BY  ZULUSo    A  Story  of  Trapping  in  Africa.    By 

Harry  Prentice. 
THE  TRAIN  BOY.    Bv  Hobatio  Alger,  Jr. 
DAN  THE  NEWSBOY.    By  Horatio  Alger,  Jr. 
SEARCH   FOR  THE  SILVER  CITY.     A  Story  of  Adventure 

in  Yucatan,    l^v  James  Otis. 
THE  BOY  CRUISERS  ;  or.  Paddling  in  Florida.    By  St.  George 

Rath  borne. 


The  above  stories  are  printed  on  extra  paper,  and  bound  in 
Handsome  Cloth  Binding,  in  all  respect*  uniform  with  »his 
volume,  at  $1.00  per  copxj. 


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The  HCarvard  ISmos. 

wis  series  comprises  one  hundred  titles  of  standard  popular  fiction.    Printed  fronk 
iarge  type  on  good  paper,  and  bound  with  gilt  tops,  in  handsome  cloth  binding. 

PROCE,  50  CENTS  PER  VOLUME. 


A'^mirars  Ward.    By  Mrs.  Alexander. 
Aurora  Floyd.    By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 
Br«ihelor\s  Blunder,  A.    By  W.  E.  Norris. 
Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial.    By  Rosa  N. 

Carey. 
Bondman,  The.    By  Hall  Caine. 
Brr»l£en  Wedding  Ring.    By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme. 
Captain  of  the  Pole-Star.    By  A.  Conan 

Doyle. 
Chaados.    By"Ouida." 
Charles  O'Malley.    By  Charles  Lever. 
ChejTy  Ripe.    By  Helen  B.  Mathers. 
Children  of  Gibeon.    By  Walter  Besant. 
Comiu'    Thro'    the   Rye.    By    Helen   B. 

Mathers. 
Cradock  No  well.    By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 
Daughter   of    an  Empress.     By   Louisa 

Muhlbaeh. 
Peemster,  The.    By  Hall  Caine. 
Dick'8  Sweetheart.    By  "  The  Duchess.  "' 
Dolores.    By  Mrs.  Forrester. 
Dora  Thome.    By  Charlotte  M.  Braeme. 
Duchess,  The.     By  "  The  Duchess. " 
East  Lynne.    By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood. 
Firm    of    Girdlestone.      By    A.   Conan 

Doyle. 
First  Viohn.    By  Jessie  Fothergill. 
For  Faith  and  Freedom.    By  W.  Besant. 
Good-Bye,      Sweetheart.        By      Rhoda 

Broughton . 
Geod  Luck.    By  E.  Werner. 
Her  Dearest  Foe.    By  Mrs.  Alexander. 
Heriot's  Choice.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
House  of  the  Wolf.    By  S.  J.  Weyman. 
X    Have    Lived    and    Loved.     By     Mrs. 

Forrester. 
In  the  Golden  Days.    By  Edna  Lyall. 
In  the  Heart  of  the  Storm.    By  Maxwell 

Grey. 
In  the  Schillingscourt.    By  E.  Marlitt. 
It    is   Never   Too   Latt   to    Mend.      By 

Charles  Reade. 
Jack's  Courtship.    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 
Juae.    By  Mrs.  Forrester. 
Kit  and  Kitty.    By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 
Lady  Aurtley's  Secret.     By  Miss   M.  E. 

Braddon. 
Lamplighter,  The.  By  Maria  S.  Cummins. 
Lorna  Doone.    By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 
Louise  de   la   Valliere.       By  Alexandre 

Du7nas. 
Madcap  Violet.    By  William  Black. 
Maid  of  Sker.    By  R.  D.  Blackmore. 
Man  In  the  Iron  Mask.     By  Alexandre 

Dumas. 
Marooned.    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 
.Michael  Strogoff .    By  Jules  Verne. 
Midshipman  Easy.    By  Captain  Marryat. 
Mohav/ks,  The.    By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 
Molly  Bawn .    By  "  The  Duchess . " 
Monsieur  Lecoq.    By  Einile  Gaboriau. 
Mrs.  Geoffrey.    By  "The Duchess." 


My    Lord    and    My    Lady.      By    Mrs 

Forrester. 
My  Shipmate  Louise.    By  W.  C.  Russell. 
Nellie's  Memories.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Not    Like   Other    Gii-ls.     By   Rosa    N. 

Carey . 
Old  Myddleton's  Money.    By  Mary  Cecil 

Hay. 
Page  of  the   Duke  of  Savoy.    By  Alex- 
andre Dumas. 
Pathfinders,  The.    By  J.  F.  Cooper. 
Phyllis.    By  "  The  Duchess." 
Pioneers,  The.    By  J.  Fenimore  Cooper, 
Prairie,  The.     By  J.  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Princess  of  Thule.     By  William  Black. 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.    By  Charles 

Reade. 
Queenie'sWHiim.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Repented  at  Leisure.    By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme. 
Robert  Ord's  Atonement.    By  Rosa  N. 

Carey. 
Romance  of  Two  Worlds.      By    Marie 

Corelli. 
Saint  Michael.    By  E.  Werner. 
Second  Wife.    By  E.  Marlitt. 
Shadow  of  a  Crime.    By  Hall  Caine. 
Shandon  Bells.     By  WiUiam  Black. 
Springhaven.    By  R.  D.  Blackmore, 
Spy,  The.    By  J.  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Strathmore.    By  "  Ouida." 
Study  in  Scarlet.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
Thelma.    By  Marie  Corelli. 
Thorns    and     Orange    Blossoms.      By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme. 
Three  Men  in  a  Boat.    By  Jerome  K. 

Jerome. 
Tents  of  Shem.     By  Grant  Allen. 
Ten  Years  Later.    By  Alexandre  Duma*. 
Tom  Cringle's  Log.    By  Michael  Scott. 
Tricotrin.     By  "Ouida." 
Trumpet  Major,  The.     By  Thos.  Hardy 
Twin  Lieutenants.  By  Alexandre  Dumas. 
Two  Admirals.    By  J.  F.  Cooper. 
Two  on  a  Tower.    By  Thomas  Hardy. 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  By  Harriet  B.  Stowe. 
Under  Two  Flags.    By  "Ouida. " 
Vendetta.    By  Marie  Corelli. 
Vicomte  D'Bi'agelonne.     By  Alexandre 

Dumas. 
Wanda.    By  "Ouida." 
Wee     Wifie.       By     Eosa     Nouchetta 

Carey. 
White  Company.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 
White  Wings.     By  William  Black. 
Widow  Lerouge.    By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
Won  by  Waiting.    By  Edna  Lyall. 
Wooing  O't,  The.     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 
Wooed  and  Married .    By  Rosa  N.  Carey, 
Wormwood.    By  Marie  Corelli . 
Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor.    By  W.  Clark 

Russell. 
Yolande .    By  WilUam  Black , 


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Each  Number  Complete  in  One  Volume, 

Price  25  cents  per  copy. 

The  numbers  in  this  series  will  be  published  semi-weekly,  well  printed  on  good 
paper,  bound  with  neat  paper  covers,  and  sewed  in  the  back,  so  each  book  will 
»pen  flat. 


1— A  Romance  of  Two  Worlds.    By 

Marie  Corelli. 
2— Lorna  Doone.    By  R.  D.  Black- 
more. 
S— The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor.    By 

W.  Clark  Russell. 
i — The     First    Violin.      By    Jessie 

Fothergrill. 
«— The  Bride  of  the  Nile.    By  George 

Ebers. 
6— The    White    Company.      By   A. 

Conan  Doyle. 
7— On   the  Heights.      By   Berthold 

Auerbach. 
&  -It  is  Never  too  Late  to  Mend.    By 

Charles  Reade. 
9— The    Maid   of  Sker.     By  R.    D. 

Blackmore. 
10— Thelraa.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

11— Uarda.    By  George  Ebers. 

12— For    Faith    and    Freedom.     By 

Walter  Besant. 
13— Far    from    the  Madding  Crowd. 

By  Thomas  Hai'dy. 
14— The    Three     Guardsmen.       By 

Alexander  Dumas. 
15— File  No.  113.   By  Emile  Gaboriau. 

16— Her  Dearest  Foe.    By  Mrs.  Alex- 
ander, 
ir— Gold  Elsie.    By  E.  Marlitt. 

18— Shandon      Bells.      By     WilUam 

Black. 
19 — ^Armadale.    By  Wilkie  Collins. 

30— The  Bondman.    By  Hall  Caine. 

21-  -Under  Two  Flags.     By  "  Ouida." 

23-PhyUis.    By  "The Duchess." 

23 — I  have  lived  and  loved.    By  Mrs. 

Forrester. 
24— The  Countess  of  Rudolstadt.     By 

George  Sand. 
25— "Oie    Silence  of  Dean    Maitland. 

By  Maxwell  Grey. 


26— Springhaven.     By  R.   D.  Black- 
more. 
27— Yolande.    By  WiUiam  Black. 

28— Aurora   Floyd.     By  Miss  M.  Eb 

Braddon. 
29— Consuelo.    By  George  Sand. 

30— Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial.  By 
Rosa  N.  Carey. 

31— Man  and  Wife.  By  WUkie  Col- 
lins. 

32— Wormwood.     By  Marie    Corelli. 

33— A  Study  in  Scarlet.  By  A.  Conan 
Doyle. 

34— Airy  Fairy  Lilian.  By  '  Th© 
Duchess.'- 

35— The  Burgomastei's  Wife.  By 
George  Ebers. 

36— Twenty  Years  After.  By  Alex- 
andre Dumas. 

37— My  Lord  and  Jly  Lady.  By  "Mrs. 
Forrester. 

3S- Jack's  Courtship.  By  W.  Clark 
Russell. 

39— Monsieur  Lecoq.  By  Emila 
Gaboriau. 

40— A  Pair  of  Blue  Eyes.  By  Thomas 
Hardy. 

41— Old  Myddelton's  Money.  By 
Mary  Cecil  Hay. 

43— The  Story  of  a  Clergyman's 
Daughter.    By  W.  Heimburg. 

43— Westward  Ho.  By  Charles  Kings- 
ley. 

44— Charles  O'Malley.  By  Charles 
Lever. 

46 — Donovan.    By  Edua  Lyall. 

46— Repented  at  I^eisure.     By  Dhar* 

lotte  M.  Braeme. 
47— Donal  Grant.     By  George   Mao 

donald. 
43- The  Second  Wife.    By  E.  Marlitt. 

49— Comin'  Thro'  the  Rye.    By  Helen 

B.  Mathers. 
50— Jolin    Halifax,  Gentleman.     By 

Miss  Mulock 


For  saU  by  all  Booksellers  and  Newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  post-paid  ot» 
receipt  of  price  by  the  pubittthi/r,  A.  X.  millT,  97  Jteade  Street,  New 
Torke  Price  25  cents  per  copy. 


THE  MANHATTAN  LIBRARY. 

New  Series.   Standard  Works.   Popular  Authors. 

Each  Number  Complete  in  One  Volume. 

Price  25  cents  per  copy. 

The  numbers  in  this  series  will  be  published  semi-weekly,  well  printed  on  gqoi 
paper,  bound  with  neat  paper  covers,  and  sewed  in  the  back,  so  eadh  book  will 
•pen  flat. 


51— The  Trumpet-Major.   By  Thomas 

Hardy. 
5a- Wanda.    By  "Ouida." 

63— Put  Yourself  in   His  Place.    By 

Charles  Reade. 
54— Marooned.    By  W.  Clark  Russell. 

55— The  Prime  Minister.   By  Anthony 

TroUope. 
56— Saint  Jlichael.    By  E.  Werner. 

67— East  Lynne.  By  Mrs.  H«nry 
Wood. 

68— The  Heir  of  Redclyffe.  By  Char- 
lotte M.  Yonge. 

59— Not  Like  Other  Girls.  By  Rosa 
N.  Carey. 

60— The  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne.  By 
Alexandre  Dumas. 

61— We  Tvvo.    By  Edna  Lyall. 

62— Mary  Anerley.  By  R.  D.  Black- 
more. 

63— The  Admiral's  Ward.  By  Mrs. 
Alexander. 

64— The  Deemster.    By  Hall  Caine. 

65— Ten  Years  Later. 

Dumas. 
66— A  Princess  of  Thule. 

Black. 
67— Her  Only  Brother.    By  W.  Heim- 

burg. 
6R— The  Tents  of  Shem.     By  Grant 

Allen. 
69— Tvvo  on  a  Tower.      By  Thomas 

Hardy. 
70— An  Egy^ian  Princess.  By  George 

Ebers. 
71— Mrs.  Geoflfrey.  By  "  The  Duchess. 

73— A  Hardy  Norseman.  By  Edna 
Lyall. 

73— Louise  de  la  ValliSre.  By  Alexan- 
dre Dumas. 

74_The  Weaker  Vessel.  By  David 
Christie  Murray. 

76_Very  Hard  Cash.  By  Charles 
Reade. 


By  Alexandre 
By  William 


76— Hypatia.     By  Charles  Kingsley. 

77— The  Wooing  O't.  By  Mrs.  Alex- 
ander. 

78— The  Moonstone.  By  Wilkie  Col- 
lins. 

79— Children  of  Gibeon.  By  Walter 
Besant. 

80— Vendetta,  or  The  Story  of  One 
Forgotten.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

81— Alice  Lorraine.  By  R.  D.  Blaek- 
more. 

83— Harry  Lorrequer.  By  Charles 
Lever. 

83— My  Shipmate  Louise.  By  W. 
Clark  Russell. 

84— The  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  By 
Alexandre  Dumas. 

85— Won  by  Waiting.    By  Edna  Lyall, 

86— Tricotrin.    By  "  Ouida." 
87— Dolores.    By  Mrs.  Forrester. 

88— Kit  and  Kitty.  By  R.  D.  Black- 
more. 

89— Robert  Ord's  Atonement.  By 
Rosa  N.  Carey. 

90— Shirley.    By  Charlotte  Bronte. 

91-A   Bachelor's   Blunder.     By  W. 

E.  Norris. 
93 — Thorns  and  Orange  Blossoma.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme. 
93— In  the   Golden  Days.     By  Edna 

Lyall. 
94— The  Squire's  Legacy.     By  Mary 

95— No  Name.  '  By  Wilkie  Collins. 


By  Miss  M.  E,  Brad- 
By  Rosa  N. 


96— Mohawks. 

don. 
97— Nellie's  Memories. 

Carey. 
98— The  Emperor.    By  George  Ebers. 

99— Dick's    Sweetheart.      By    "The 

Duchess." 
100— Cradock  Nowell.   By  R.  D.  Black- 
more. 


Fw  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and  Newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  post-paid  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  publisher,  A.  X.  BVRT,  97  Jieade  Street,  New 
T0rk»  rjrice  35  c«nt«  per  copy» 


THE  MANHATTAN  LIBRARY 

New  Series.  Standard  Works.  Popular  Authors. 

Each  Nxtmher  Complete  in  One  Volume. 

Price  25  cents  per  copy. 

The  nunijbers  in  this  series  will  be  published  weekly,  well  printed  on  good  paper, 
bound  with  neat  paper  covers,  and  sewed  in  the  back,  so  each  book  will  open  flat. 


101— Micah  Clarke.  By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

lOS^Good  Luck.    By  E.  Werner. 

103  -Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 

By  Charles  Reade. 
104— Strathmore.    By  "Ouida." 

105~In  the  Counselor's  House.    By  E. 

Marlitt. 
106— Wooed  and  Married.    By  Rosa  N. 

Carey. 
107— Cherry  Ripe.    By  Helen  B.  Math- 

J08— The  Shadow  of  a  Crune.    By  Hall 

109— The  Woodlanders.      By  Thomas 

Hardy. 
110— Queenie's   Whim.     By   Rosa   N. 

Carey. 
Ill— Matrimony.    By  W.  E.  Norris. 

U3— The  Sin  of  Joost  Avelingh.    By 

Maarten  Maartens. 
113— Fair  Women.    By  Mrs.  Forrester. 

114— White  Wings.    By  Wm.  Black. 

115— Armorel  of  Lyonesse.    By  Walter 

Besant. 
116— Pere   Goriot.         By   Honore   De 

Balzac. 
117— The  Executor.      By   Mrs.    Alex 

118— The   Arundel  Motto.     By   Mary 

C'ei;il  Hay. 
119— Othmar.     By  "Ouida." 

120— Chandos.    By  "Ouida." 

121— Cripps   the   Carrier.     By   R.  D. 

Blackmore. 
Ii22— June.    By  Mrs.  Forrester. 

123— Wee  Wifle.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

J24-The  Twin  Lieutenants.  By  Alex- 
andre Dumas. 

125— Qood-Bye,  Sweetheart.  By  Rhoda 
Broughton. 


126— St.  Katherines  By  the  Tower.  By 
Walter  Besant. 

127— Cloister  and  the  Hearth.  By 
Charles  Reade. 

128— The  Countess  Gisela.  By  E.  Mar- 
litt. 

129— The  Duchess.  By  "The  Duchess." 

130— Cousin   Pons.       By   Honore   De 

Balzac. 
131— In  Far   Lochaber.^i  By  William 

Black. 
132— A   Broken   Wedding  Ring.      By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme. 
133— The  Page  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy. 

By  Alexandre  DuMas. 
134— The  Captain  of  the  Pole-Star.   By 

A.  Conan  Doyle. 
135 — Heriot's   Choice.      By   Rosa    N. 

Carey. 
136— In   the   SchiUingscourt.      By,  E. 

Blarlitt. 
137— Dora  Thorne.    By  Charlotte   M. 

Braeme. 
138— The  Firm  of  Girdlestone.    By  A. 

Conan  Doyle. 
139— The  Lady  with  the  Rubies.'  By  E. 

Blarlitt. 
140— The  Reproach  of  Annesley.    By 

Maxwell  Grey. 
141— Moths.    By  "Ouida." 

142— Tempest-Tossed.      By   Theodore 

Tilton. 
143— The  Woman  in  White.    By  Wilkle 

Collins. 
144 — The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame. 

By  Victor  Hugo. 
145— Tom  Cringle's  Log.    By  Michael 

Scott. 
146— Clara  Vaughan.    By  R.  D.  Black- 
more. 
147-In  the  Heart  of  the  Storm.    By 

Maxwell  Grey. 
148— A  March  in  the  Ranks.    By  Jessie 

Fothergill. 
149— Molly  Bawn.    By  "The  Duchess." 

150— Madcap  Violet.  By  William 
Black. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and  Newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  post-paid  on 
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